


Dancing with a Dragon

by Justlikewriting



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Auror Harry Potter, Case Fic, Covert Operation, Cursed Draco Malfoy, Dancing, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Nightmares, Oblivious Harry, Pining, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Secret Identity, at least for a while, philanthropist Draco Malfoy, reference to drug use minor character, sharing a hotel suite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justlikewriting/pseuds/Justlikewriting
Summary: When a new group of potions smugglers, also known as the Dragon Cartel, infiltrates the UK market from mainland Europe, Harry is happy to go on a mission to Brussels. That is, until he finds out whose bodyguard he will have to be, because, of course, that just has to be Draco Malfoy: his former, er-, schoolmate and the same prat Harry has only recently encountered at a particularly boring ministry event.Why?It was the first thing Harry could think when he saw it, followed very closely by: Why the hell? Why had Zabini taken Draco sodding Malfoy as his plus one for tonight?As if this terrible Ministry ball hadn’t been quite awful enough already.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 148





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> I usually write to music, so, just for those who might be interested:  
> This chapter has been written to: Dance of the Two Wolves by Julia Aks (soundtrack John Wick 3)
> 
> Have fun reading!

_Why?_

It was the first thing Harry could think when he saw it, followed very closely by: Why the hell? Why had Zabini taken _Draco_ sodding _Malfoy_ as his plus one for tonight? 

As if this terrible Ministry ball hadn’t been quite awful enough already.

Harry knew this thing was apparently important – at least, _now_ he knew, because over the last few weeks Hermione had taken every opportunity to make absolutely sure he understood its significance – and that’s why he’d come in the first place. He’d never actually liked dances in the first place and something like this: a formal banquet with speeches and all, followed by a ball. Well, he would gladly have forgotten all about ever even having received the invitation.

Hermione, however, quite obviously was to blame that he hadn’t. She had told him time and again how this was something he couldn’t miss out on. How momentous this whole thing was. It was the first time in more than a hundred years that this had happened, that representatives of the foremost wizarding societies from all over the world had come together. 

Earlier that week there had been conferences on the place of wizarding society in the modern world: they had been discussing how different wizarding societies worked with Muggles (or how they didn’t) and how the wizarding world would be able to cooperate more, but also and especially they’d been talking about what it meant to be a witch or wizard in these times and if or how they should relate to modern technology. 

And now, at the end of the whole thing, there was this official ball.

Where Harry evidently had had to make an appearance.

So, that’s why Harry was currently staring at Draco Malfoy, who was standing across the huge ballroom, being completely at ease of course. He was leaning against the bar, elegantly dressed in formal robes that were cut to still tease at his tall, slim physique. His white-blonde hair was longish again and would be reaching to his jawline if it hadn’t been slicked back. It was a hairstyle Harry had never particularly cared for, but Malfoy still managed to look undeniably good.

Of course he did. 

Harry saw that Malfoy was animatedly talking to Zabini and Harry was struck by how much more Malfoy’s face could apparently do than scowl and smirk when he was talking to someone he knew and liked. It almost took Harry by surprise.

Then Malfoy looked in his direction and before Harry could look away, Malfoy was watching him, a flicker of what looked almost like uncertainty, then a faint, amused smile on his lips.

That’s when Harry _did_ avert his eyes.

Only to see that Hermione had joined him.

“He’s grown into his looks, don’t you think?” Of course Hermione had seen where Harry’d looked just now. There really was no point in denying it. 

“Yeah, I suppose, but he still looks like he’s the same insufferable prat, though.” 

Harry had expected Hermione to agree to that easily, but instead she was silent for a short while before answering: “Well, I don’t know. He _seems_ to have changed. He’s lived in continental Europe over the last seven or eight years and apparently he’s become some sort of philanthropist, organising all sorts of events, raising enormous amounts of money for charity.” There she paused again, then added, more softly: “My Foundation against the Discrimination of Magical Creatures has actually received his Charity’s support for, well, the last five years at least.”

“Really?” There was something Harry hadn’t expected at all. ”But-, but he was awful to you in school.” 

Hermione shrugged: “The first gift to my Foundation was accompanied by a letter of apology that I accepted. I think he actually wants to make amends.” Well, he certainly hadn’t made amends with him, Harry thought rather resentfully. 

Hermione smiled a slightly mischievous smile, though: “But he’s also managed to make himself into a celebrity of some sort in the process. On the continent he seems to be just as well known for his lifestyle as for his charity work. He’s even made it into _Witch Weekly_ here in the UK several times.” 

Ah, there was the Malfoy Harry remembered. The Malfoy that would do anything to be in the limelight, the Malfoy that wanted to be seen and admired. 

The Malfoy that Harry knew how to deal with.

And apparently the Malfoy he found himself staring at again. Right. 

Harry pulled his gaze away and eyed the crowd, looking for Ginny, because even though they had broken things off ages ago, she still accompanied him to these sorts of official gatherings. It was something she was rather good at, seemingly always knowing what to say to whom at the right moment.

It was a quality Harry himself very obviously didn’t possess much of, at the best of times, and a quality that seemed to deteriorate with every drink he consumed at that. It was why he tried to keep the amount of alcohol he took at events like these to an absolute minimum.

Ah, there she was. He found Ginny somewhere to his right, talking to a witch Harry vaguely remembered. She probably worked in Magical Games and Sport, or perhaps it was the Department of magical Accidents and Catastrophes, or it could also be-.

“Harry, there you are.” Ginny smiled at him, drawing him into the conversation with ease, as she always did. “This is Mabel.” Okay, now he remembered where he’d seen her before. Mabel worked at the Department of Magical Transportation. “Yes, of course. You’re responsible for our Portkeys,” he said. 

Mabel smiled at him overly brightly, probably flattered that the great Harry Potter remembered who she was. 

Sometimes Harry felt so tired of being him.

***

Harry looked at the clock again. It was still about an hour before he had been here long enough to be able to excuse himself - because he would have to work tomorrow, which was annoyingly true - and slip out. He’d been here more than two hours already and he’d wrestled through every slow second of it. It was just as awful as he’d imagined it would be. 

Or even more so, perhaps.

About an hour ago the dancing had really started, the sort of ballroom stuff that Harry had never mastered. It was something he didn’t even really like to watch, always feeling terribly inadequate when he did. 

He found himself watching now, though. Slightly surprised. Ron and Hermione were dancing. He hadn’t seen very much of them all evening, but now they were there, dancing and they did a good job of it, too. Ron had obviously learned.

Perhaps Harry should ask him how.

“Potter? Do you mind? You know, since you don’t dance?” The question startled Harry a bit, its tone sure, but slightly teasing. It came from Blaise Zabini, who had apparently made his way towards Ginny and now watched Harry, eyebrows raised in an obvious question. 

Harry smiled at him. “No, you two have fun,” Harry just said. Zabini could probably really dance, if his easy and confident way of moving was anything to go by, and so could Ginny. It would be nice for her to actually have a go with someone who wouldn’t ruin her shoes, her toes and her dress in the process. 

Furthermore Harry liked Zabini. He hadn’t actually seen him for the past few months, but they’d had to work together on more than one occasion over the years, because Zabini worked in a Covert Ops part of the Auror Department that had been established after the war, at first mostly to seek out dark wizards and later to find any criminals that had proven to be especially difficult to find. Harry’s team had had to rely on Zabini’s team for intel a few times and although they hadn’t quite reached first name basis just yet, they had found they worked well together. Harry was genuinely glad to see Zabini here. 

Well, apart from him bringing that poncey, blond twat of course.

As Harry’s gaze followed Zabini and Ginny to the dancefloor, he saw that said blond twat had also paired up, with Astoria Greengrass to be exact. She was here with her fiancé Seamus Finnigan, who Harry knew preferably didn’t do any dancing either and who apparently didn’t have any trouble with Draco Malfoy stealing away his partner for the time being.

Harry didn’t particularly want to, but instead of watching Ginny and Zabini, he found himself gazing at Astoria and Malfoy walking to the middle of the room together. He couldn’t really get himself to stop, which wasn’t much of a problem until Malfoy watched him too, a look on his face that Harry was completely unable to read. 

It took just a fraction of a second before Malfoy looked away again, standing still on the dancefloor as he had apparently reached the spot he had wanted to be.

The floor wasn’t very crowded just now, the music just having changed to something slightly more upbeat. Harry saw Malfoy bowing as he said something to Astoria, perhaps asking her a question. She answered him and he smiled a little, warm and genuine.

It was the sort of smile Harry hadn’t expected to be seeing on him at all, not ever. And it made him look even better. 

That was when Malfoy and Astoria started to dance.

It was slightly hesitant at first, as if they were trying where they could take this. Then Malfoy spoke to Astoria again - just short sentences and nods – and then they really started to dance. 

They _really_ did.

Malfoy was a better dancer than Harry had already imagined him to be: his movements elegant and sure, never missing a beat, simultaneously guiding Astoria exactly where he wanted her to go with complete ease. They started out just doing rather fast basic steps to a dance that Harry didn’t really know (no waltz or tango then), but then they started to make it much more interesting, Malfoy making Astoria twirl and spin seemingly without any effort at all, like they had been doing this together for ages.

Perhaps they had. 

And Harry had to admit: it was astoundingly beautiful to watch.

He obviously wasn’t the only one to have noticed, though. A lot of people were actually staring at Malfoy and Astoria, at the way their bodies seemed to fit and move together with a grace that left most people utterly lacking. Even Zabini and Ginny seemed to have slowed down a bit to be able to see. 

And then the music stopped, and so did Malfoy. Harry found he almost regretted that it was over and he couldn’t help but keep watching when Malfoy walked Astoria back to where Seamus was waiting.

“Draco and Astoria really know how to dance, don’t you think?” Harry hadn’t even seen Zabini and Ginny come back, but they must have, because Harry was currently watching Zabini’s rather arrogant features up close. 

“Well, yes,” Harry just shrugged, trying to seem disinterested, while feeling his annoyance at Malfoy just _being_ there, flare up. “So,” Harry already knew what he was going to ask, but he couldn’t quite stop himself, “why don’t _you_ dance with him, though? You know, since you brought him here.” It sounded rather base even to his own ears.

Zabini considered him for a moment, then smirked a little and drawled: “Well, Potter, would you like us to?” 

Harry vaguely felt like he was being tricked, but he answered anyway: “No, of course not.” It came out much too forceful. Damn Slytherins. Harry ploughed on regardless, though. “But I could imagine you would want to dance with your _partner_.” 

Zabini just smiled knowingly, before answering. “We’re not that sort of partners. Let’s just say we have an understanding.”

Harry knew he should leave it at that, he very much should. 

“What kind of understanding?” It was a stupid question and really it shouldn’t matter, but for some reason it did. It mattered a lot and Harry needed to know.

Zabini shrugged: “Well, we just tend to take each other to events like these. It’s not much unlike you and Ginny, only we sometimes go home together afterwards.” 

“Tonight too?” Harry knew he’d asked too fast, too urgently. It really, really wasn’t his business what Zabini was up to later tonight.

And Zabini had obviously noticed exactly what Harry had hoped he wouldn’t, because he laughed, short and cocky. “If it makes you feel better: probably not, no. Draco is taking a Portkey back to the Continent in about half an hour. Why, Potter? Would you like to take his place?” Zabini was teasing him now and although he _had_ actually been with Zabini like that, just once - when they had both been very drunk -Harry was quite sure neither of them particularly cared for a repeat performance.

“No offence, Zabini, but no,” Harry smiled. 

“Blaise, here you are.” Even after all these years Harry still recognised Malfoy’s unmistakable drawl. “I understood you wanted to talk to me before I leave.” Malfoy seemed to ignore Harry’s presence altogether.

_Talk. Yeah, right._

“So, you’re back?” Harry just asked the first thing his mind supplied. It wasn’t his most impressive line, but it worked, because Malfoy now watched him, slightly bemused and at the same time with a disdainful expression on his face that for a short moment looked an awful lot like hurt.

“Well, yes, obviously.” Malfoy paused a beat, then added: “Why? Shouldn’t I be?” There was a challenge to his voice, but also something else, something underneath that he wasn’t saying.

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, of course, no problem: you seem to like this kind of thing. The dancing and stuff.”

“I won’t be here very much longer, though, so unless you would like to grace me with a dance?” Here Malfoy actually gazed at Harry directly, inexplicably going a very faint shade of pink. 

Dance, with _Malfoy_? This whole conversation was getting stranger by the second. 

“So, would you?” Malfoy’s mouth curled up in a hint of a smirk, adding, when Harry didn’t answer straight away: “You know, grace me with a dance?” 

“No.” Harry shook his head vehemently, because otherwise he would have to -: “No, I don’t dance.” 

“I thought as much.” Malfoy sounded infuriatingly smug - Harry could make out that much - but there seemed to be something else underneath, something Harry couldn’t quite put a finger on. 

“Come on. We apparently need to talk,” Malfoy then said to Zabini, who followed him out of the room.

“Harry, want another drink?” Ron was standing next to him now. They hadn’t been talking very much throughout the evening. While Hermione had been working the room, Ron had noticeably been working the rather posh snacks that were served constantly, just talking to Harry when he was able to in the process and when Harry wasn’t being claimed by some other wizard or another. 

Harry shook his head. He _really_ didn’t feel like staying anymore. “No, in fact, I think I should be going. There’s a briefing I need to attend first thing tomorrow morning.” 

It was true and Ron knew enough of the workings of the Auror Department not to even ask why Harry apparently had to come into work on a Saturday.

***

The following morning was one of those mornings when Harry asked himself why again he had wanted to become an Auror. Ron hadn’t gone into training to become one, choosing a career in his brother George’s shop instead and this morning Harry quite passionately wished he’d done the same. 

But no, he had wanted to become an Auror, so that’s what he’d become, like everybody had expected him to. He couldn’t say he didn’t like it, though. Most of the time it was okay, chasing criminals of all kinds, working out how particular crimes had been committed and eventually the satisfaction when things were rounded up. 

Except for the paperwork, which was something he would probably never get used to, his job meant doing something he actually liked to do, putting his skills to full use.

All of that didn’t matter now, though. It had been a markedly busy week, with a group of potions smugglers from Europe also infiltrating the UK market - almost untraceably so - like ghosts. It was maddening. 

And then there had been this ridiculous ball yesterday, which had meant he hadn’t had a nicely relaxed Friday evening. And now, on top of all that, he didn’t even have the weekend off, either. No, instead he needed to attend this stupid meeting that he had only been informed of yesterday afternoon.

So, here he was, probably, no certainly, not looking his best, but he was here all the same. He hadn’t put much effort, well, even less than normally, into his appearance this morning, just glad he’d made it almost in time, but as soon as he stepped into Robard’s office he knew that had been a mistake. 

The people in there weren’t just the usual lot. Sure, there was Zabini, a sign Harry probably would have to work with Special Ops again and some other faces he recognised, but what worried him most were the few people he didn’t know. The ones in formal robes, with formal faces to match. 

This was not your usual Auror briefing.

“Well, now we’re _finally_ all here, I’d like to start,” Robards began, hardly hiding his disapproval of Harry being just ever so slightly late. “As you all know a new group of potions smugglers has been causing trouble on the European mainland for months now and they seem to have expanded their market to the UK just recently. They stand out, because they don’t only seem to brew and smuggle forbidden magical potions, but they have also been flooding the Muggle market with party drugs laced with magic, which makes it all even more delicate. They are known as the Dragon Cartel, their pills and potions recognisable by a dragon symbol.” 

Robards went on explaining some more and then some other officials went on doing the same and Harry found himself phasing out. He knew all of this already: last week had been all about this new Cartel. Well that, plus he hadn’t had any coffee yet, and it sort of caught up with him now.

He only started paying attention again when Zabini started to talk, who, with his arrogant drawl, explained about the UK being involved in some Ops on the Continent to find out more about these smugglers, because there was a strong suspicion that a large contingent of the Cartel actually consisted of Brits. They’d had limited success finding anything yet, though. 

Then one of the officials, a small witch that reminded Harry uncomfortably of Dolores Umbridge, took over and began to state that it was deemed necessary to have Auror involvement on this case. So, that’s why they had been given clearance to send an Auror to work this case abroad, together with a member of the Special Ops team that had already been working the case. It would be a recon mission, aimed at finding out as much as was possible about how the Cartel worked so that eventually they would be able to arrest the most important leaders at least. 

Harry looked up at Zabini who didn’t say anything, but just cocked an eyebrow and smirked at him almost imperceptibly. Harry could readily guess what was coming. 

It was Robards who eventually dropped the question, though: did Harry want to take on this very important, but delicate assignment?

Harry’s professional brain kicked in then and there, so he started asking questions. How long would he be away for, what would be his clearance, what would he officially be able to do (could he make arrests), and so on and so forth. 

When he was satisfied with the answers, he agreed to taking on the job. 

As he had known he would from the start, really: it was much too exciting and new to pass up on.

“Harry, I’m glad you’ve agreed to do this,” Robards said, sounding decidedly pleased, “but only one small matter remains to be discussed.” 

That’s when Harry braced himself: Robards didn’t do small matters, at all, ever. 

“We can’t just put you up in Brussels without people getting suspicious, so you need a cover.”

Yes, right, Brussels, that was where the Cartel was apparently operating from. 

Okay, Harry could go along with that, the need for him to have a cover being quite obvious. It actually made sense.

“So, officially you’re going to be assigned to protect someone from threats he’s been receiving. That will give you enough of an opportunity to also inconspicuously investigate the Dragon Cartel.” 

Again it made sense.

“As such, you will be assigned to be a bodyguard to Draco Malfoy who is currently residing in Brussels.” Robards probably saw Harry’s reaction, because he added: “And, yes, I know the two of you were hardly friends in school, but I trust in your capability for professionalism.” 

And _that_ was where the making sense had just stopped.

Why again had he decided to take on this mission?


	2. The Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written to:  
> Step Back - Radio Edit by Chocolate Puma, Kris Kiss

After he’d been given the assignment Harry had had the afternoon and the early evening to pack and say his goodbyes to some friends. Then he’d had to leave, so now here he was. He hadn’t really been thinking about where Malfoy would be staying, but the building Harry was currently facing definitely looked like the sort of hotel the git would be staying at: it was old, conveniently smack in the city centre - just off the largest market square in Brussels - and undoubtedly extremely posh.

Harry just knew he would grow to hate this assignment more with every passing second.

He _had_ accepted it, however, so there was nothing for it: he had to go in.

Inside even the reception desk looked posh, marble and all, and Harry couldn’t shake the impression that the lady receiving him, didn’t quite think he looked like he belonged there.

He probably didn’t.

“Oh, Mr Potter,” her accent was adorably French and her face seemed to have lit up when she’d heard his name. It left him slightly confused. He didn’t think his name was that famous over on the Continent. “You’re here for Mr Malfoy, yes?” Her face lit up even more when she said Malfoy’s name. 

Right, Harry wasn’t the well-known one over here, apparently. 

“Yes, I am,” he all but stammered. “Do you know where his room is?” Harry felt himself blush a bit. It was a stupid question, because of course she knew. It obviously was her job to know.

She didn’t seem to think any of it, though. “Yes, I have been asked to escort you there. We will arrange for your luggage to be brought up, too.” 

Harry all but cut her off. “No, I’d like to take my own luggage up, if that’s alright.” He’d never liked being waited upon like that: for some reason it made him feel uncomfortable.

She just nodded. “Of course, sir.” Then she started walking to the lifts and Harry followed, dutifully taking his own luggage. 

“Mr Malfoy is not in at the moment, but he asked me to let you in, when you arrived. You can help yourself to anything you’d like and order whatever you want from the menu, would you want to,” she started to explain, while letting him into what apparently was Malfoy’s room. “Mr Malfoy occupies a two-bedroom suite. I will show you where you can put your luggage.” 

Okay, not a room, a suite, and a large one at that. For once Harry was actually glad the pompous twat had expensive taste. Otherwise they would probably have been stuck in a room with only one bed. Which would obviously, and for all sorts of reasons, have been absolutely unbearable. 

***

Harry had already fallen asleep - after eating a burger, that wasn’t on the menu, but that he’d asked for anyway – when he noticed the wards of the suite that he’d set up earlier, because he figured that was part of his job as a bodyguard, flare up.

At first he was slightly alarmed, but the wards let whoever it was in without a hitch, which could only mean one thing: Malfoy had just got back.

Harry’s first reaction was to ignore it, to pull the duvet over his head and to see about this whole thing tomorrow, but it was probably better to let Malfoy know he had arrived. 

So Harry got out of bed, looked down on himself briefly to make absolutely sure that his pyjamas actually covered everything and then he went into their shared living space. 

Malfoy had most certainly entered.

He had probably been walking to his bedroom, but had stopped short when Harry came in, looking Harry over rather slowly. It left Harry, obviously still just wearing his pyjamas, feeling uncomfortably underdressed: Malfoy was wearing a particularly beautiful Muggle suit in a shade of blue that was reminiscent of the sky at night. And, of course, it fit him to perfection.

“Potter. You’ve arrived.” It most definitely was his usual drawl, but his jawline clenched and his eyes closed briefly, then he looked up again, watching Harry. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you, but I trust Madeleine has told you all you need to know.” 

Harry nodded. “Yeah, she has.”

Okay, this was really rather awkward. Perhaps he shouldn’t have got out of bed after all. 

But he had and Harry felt like he needed to say something more. Anything. “You’re wearing a Muggle suit,” he blurted out, because the suit thing apparently was what his sleep-addled brain had been processing, while his conscious-self had been thinking about how strange this situation was. Which of course very definitely didn’t help.

He _really_ should have stayed in bed.

Malfoy didn’t say anything straight away, though, only looking a bit confused for a moment and then he smiled, just slightly, as if he’d just been able to reign it in before it would have become a real smile. “Yes, so it seems,“ he answered, flatly, still with that half-smile on his lips. “I was invited to a gala ball that would have been very unwise for me not to attend,” he then elaborated as if that explained everything. 

Harry must involuntarily have pulled a face at that, because Malfoy answered a question Harry hadn’t asked. “I didn’t think so, that’s why I didn’t require you to accompany me today. Besides it was a Muggle event, so I imagine I really wasn’t at risk at all. Hence the suit, though.” 

So, there was his answer: Malfoy didn’t wear robes, but a suit, because he’d been to a Muggle thing. 

And then the dreadful reality occurred to Harry: “So, I will have to come to all those events you go to?” He was proud to have swallowed the word ‘awful’ to accompany ‘events’ just in time.

Malfoy considered him for a brief moment, before answering, rather slowly: “Yeees, that’s what bodyguards usually do.” Here Harry wanted to object, but Malfoy didn’t let him: “And before you mention it: yes, I know you’re supposed to do your other job while being my bodyguard, but you will actually have to accompany me _sometimes_ for your cover to be believable,” adding, as if he couldn’t quite help himself: “It probably won’t require you to dance with me most of the time, though.” 

Harry had already started to form an answer in his head, wanting to say something witty, perhaps even slightly offensive, when he saw Malfoy’s eyes. They held something he hadn’t seen directed at him ever, not even throughout all the time they’d spent at the same school. 

It looked like amusement and Harry realised Malfoy had been teasing him. 

And that Malfoy was blushing slightly now. It probably really _hadn’t_ been his intention to actually say it.

“Well, I think we shouldn’t dance at all, especially if you actually care for the use of your toes. I haven’t improved since the Yule ball, really,” Harry heard himself say next. 

Malfoy’s face seemed strangely stuck between a smile and disappointment for a moment, before just answering: “Okay. Whatever.” 

Then Malfoy stifled a barely concealed yawn: “Goodnight, Potter,” was all he said next. 

He was out of the room, before he could have heard Harry’s answer. 

***

The next morning, when Harry was ready to Apparate into his meeting with the Covert Ops agent he was supposed to work with on this potions smugglers case, he still didn’t exactly know what to think of his meeting with Draco Malfoy the night prior. It had left him on uneven footing. He had always thought he knew Malfoy, but for some reason now he wasn’t entirely sure anymore. 

Perhaps Hermione was right. Perhaps Malfoy _had_ changed, a bit, maybe, if you knew what to look for.

That wasn’t anything to worry about now, though. Now, he needed to get to his appointment.

So he Apparated.

When everything had become solid again, Harry looked around to find he was in a small office in what seemed to be an otherwise deserted building. There was a table and two chairs and not much else: his agent still noticeably missing too.

“Good, you’re here already.” His Covert Ops man had apparently arrived just outside the door of the office and stepped in, shrugging his outer robes off. “Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable.” 

The man was lean and athletic, wearing a beige suit that showed it all off perfectly, including his soft dark hair and piercing blue eyes. When he spoke English he had a thick French accent. 

Harry had to admit he was quite attractive.

The man had obviously seen him looking, for he started to explain: “I’ve been working this case undercover, so it probably won’t come as a surprise to you that I’m wearing a Glamour. For all intents and purposes you’re going to know me as Francois.” 

Harry just nodded, although he felt slightly disappointed. He would have liked to know who he was working with, but he also knew that whoever it was, was putting himself in grave danger just talking to him at all.

“For now I have chosen a location that is completely off any grid, but next time that won’t be necessary, because you will also be required to Glamour up. I trust Auror Training has made sure you know how to do that?” Francois’ eyebrows were raised in an obvious question.

Harry nodded again, slightly stung. “Of course I do.” As if just Covert Ops agents would know how to use a Glamour. 

Francois didn’t seem to register the sting to Harry’s tone, though, since he just continued: “I would like people to spot you, in your Glamour of course, and me together a few times, so it will be clear we know each other. That will most certainly make things easier, should I have to bring you into the Cartel at some point.” Harry realised he felt slightly irritable: underneath his accent Francois sounded so certain, so confident. It reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it just yet.

Now wasn’t the time to go into that, however, as Francois produced some parchment, that obviously required Harry’s attention. Harry noticed Francois’ movements were easy and sure, which probably made sense, in his line of business and all. “This will be your identity. Learn it by heart and be sure to be this person any time we meet, both in looks and in actions.” There was the arrogance again, but it wasn’t menacing. 

“Should I take on the Glamour now?” Harry heard himself ask almost defiantly. He apparently felt like he had something to prove. “You know, so we’re sure it works.”

Francois just considered him for a moment. Glamouring into a pre-set identity for the first time was rather difficult magic.

Harry decided not to wait and he got his wand out, focussing on the person he was to become. He felt his body shift and change almost straight away.

And he must have got it right, because Francois watched him with something like awe for the slightest of moments. Then it was gone.

When Francois spoke again, it was amused more than anything: “I’m happy they actually teach some useful things in Auror training apparently.” His eyes held a glint of humour.

Harry couldn’t help but smile a little. “Yes, they do. Just so you know, we’re not all completely useless because we’re not in Covert Ops.” 

“I never insinuated any such thing. I wouldn’t dare.” Francois’ tone was full-on teasing now. 

And Harry was absolutely sure he knew him. 

“So, is there anything else you’d like to know for now?” Francois had effortlessly reverted back to his professional tone of voice.

Harry shook his head. 

“Then I’ll just tell you when and where we’ll meet up tomorrow, in full Glamour of course.” 

***

When Harry got back to Malfoy’s suite, it was completely quiet. 

Harry was almost relieved. It probably meant Malfoy wasn’t in, which meant he could go on ignoring the slightly uncomfortable encounter they’d had last night just a little bit longer.

It very quickly became clear he was in no such luck, though, when Malfoy wandered in out of his bedroom. 

“Potter,” his voice was completely even, “I thought you had somewhere to be this morning.” 

“You know about that?” 

“Well, obviously.” It was clear Malfoy would gladly have done an eyeroll here, but Harry realised Malfoys probably didn’t do eyerolls. Too busy being posh. Malfoy apparently did deem fit to elaborate, though: “I was told you would start your other job this morning and that you should be available for that throughout the daytime, mostly. In the evenings you should be free to be my bodyguard, so as to not arouse suspicion.” 

“So-,“ Harry decided not to address the previous evening at all. Malfoy hadn’t done so, so it was probably okay not to. Instead he decided to tackle another subject. “So, I’m your bodyguard now? Did you actually get any threats?” Harry was aware it sounded sort of doubtful, as if he didn’t actually believe any of it and he wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t mean it that way, either, at least a bit. 

Malfoy’s face did something that Harry wasn’t quite able to read, but that on anyone else would have looked suspiciously like hurt, before he checked himself, and answered, slightly loud, as if forcing himself to just say it: “Yes, I did, actually, but that’s nothing for you to worry about.” 

This confused Harry, which apparently showed, because Malfoy continued, slightly flustered: “Let’s just say it’s nothing out of the ordinary.” 

This didn’t really ease Harry’s confusion, so Malfoy added: “They’re just the usual things, you know. It’s why I moved to the Continent in the first place.” 

While he had been talking Malfoy’s voice had taken on its normal indifference, as if it didn’t matter to him at all, as if it really _was_ nothing extraordinary.

Harry felt himself frown. “So, nothing we need to take into consideration?” 

Malfoy shook his head, a small smirk on his lips. “No, not really,” then adding: “One of the threats has been given rather a lot of publicity, though. It made quite a few newspapers. You know, just so it would make sense for me to hire a bodyguard, who also happens to be my former schoolmate.” 

Here Harry shot him a look and Malfoy obviously understood what he meant, adding, slightly amused: “We didn’t use the former Nemesis part, or whatever we were in school, for the papers. I didn’t think it would be terribly helpful to your cover.” 

Harry smiled at that and he found it was genuine. “No, it probably wouldn’t have been. So, you don’t think we should go into those threats while we’re at it? I mean, as I’m here anyway.” 

“No, I’m perfectly able to deal with those.” Malfoy’s voice now sounded almost offended all of a sudden, as if he wanted to make sure Harry knew he didn’t actually _need_ him, that he could take care of himself. “You should just look the part when you’re with me and get on with your other job when you’re not.”

Harry let that sink in for a moment, then asking: “About the me looking-the-part bit: when should I make my first appearance as your bodyguard?” 

Here Malfoy smiled slightly deviously: “Well, tonight would be a good start. I need to attend dinner at a wizarding family’s in Liège.”

Liège, it sounded French, but Harry didn’t have a clue where it was and Malfoy obviously saw that, for he added, a bit impatiently: “Also in Belgium, Potter. Brush up on your geography, because we’ll be going to several different places. Not all people with money live in the same city, you know. And before you ask: no, we won’t be sticking to Belgium, either. We also need to see some people in the Netherlands. It just so happens I haven’t hosted many events in this part of Europe yet, which means I still have a lot of work to do here. That, of course, being really convenient actually, because I understand that whatever it is you’re doing is also centred here.” 

***

The dinner party Malfoy had to attend, appeared to be a rather fancy affair. Large dinner table, lots of expensively dressed guests, the works. 

Harry was positioned next to the door of the dining hall and apart from the servant (apparently no house elves here) that had shoved a plate of food into his hands at some point, no one paid him any attention.

Of course, Harry had sort of expected it to be like this: he had worked enough security as an Auror to know how these things went, but he obviously hadn’t taken the language barrier into account, because, although he had been here the entire evening, he hadn’t been able to understand _anything_ anyone was saying. 

They _all_ spoke French, fast and fluently.

Harry had always known that Malfoy had a French sounding name, but he hadn’t known the prat actually spoke the language, fluently apparently. At least enough so to engage in conversation and have people hanging on his every word. 

It was both really annoying and, well …, just-, really annoying.

But, annoying or not, Harry definitely needed to focus his attention on Malfoy, though. That was his job after all.

And that’s why he caught Malfoy looking at him intently later that evening, pointing Harry out to the slender girl on his right and saying something in what looked like a conspiratorial way, their heads close.

For some reason it took Harry quite some control to keep standing where he was. What did Malfoy think? That he could just gossip about him all he wanted? 

The arrogant, irritating, French-speaking twat. 

***

“What did you tell her about me? You know, the girl next to you at dinner?” It was the first thing Harry asked Malfoy after they had started walking back to their Apparition point.

It apparently took Malfoy a moment to recall who Harry was referring to, but when he did, he shrugged. “Nothing important,” adding, when Harry gave him his most piercing look: “Just something about you being my bodyguard. Which, of course, you are.”

Harry watched Malfoy some more and Malfoy just gazed back at him. Then he smiled a little, amused: “What else is there to tell?” 

Harry took the glint of humour in Malfoy’s eyes for what it was, noticing that, for some reason, he didn’t even really want to provoke Malfoy anymore. “Nothing, I guess. Here in Belgium I’m just a bloke with a stupid scar, apparently.” Harry smiled a little, then said: “It is nice, though, not to be stared at. I’d almost forgotten what that felt like,” realizing, as he said it, that it was quite true.

“Yes, that _is_ nice.” Malfoy’s voice had gone slightly more quiet. “Although, of course, I wouldn’t entirely know: I’m obviously not Harry Potter, quite the opposite really.” Malfoy was probably trying for humorous, but he didn’t quite succeed.

Harry just watched him for a moment. “So, you went to mainland Europe to escape scrutiny?” It was as much of a statement as it was a question. Malfoy nodded without looking at Harry, briskly walking to their Apparition point. 

Harry still didn’t really know what to think about this whole thing, though. He actually hadn’t spared so much as a thought for what the aftermath of the war would have been like for Malfoy. Mostly he had just assumed Malfoy would have gone on being the prick he usually was, living the good life in Malfoy Manor and then moving to the Continent, because the weather was nicer or something. 

But he hadn’t in fact seen Malfoy at all over the past ten years, not since the trials. Not until he’d seen him at the Ministry Ball two days ago.

“And you hadn’t been back to the UK before the Ministry Ball?” Harry guessed and he heard he sounded slightly incredulous.

“No.” The answer was simple, but Harry thought he could almost hear the things Malfoy wasn’t saying. 

“Blaise thought it was time for me to appear in Britain again and this ball basically was as good an opportunity as any,” Malfoy elaborated.

They had reached their Apparition point now, but Harry pressed on: “It was all right, though, wasn’t it? The ball?” 

“Yes, I suppose it was. At least I haven’t been hexed,” Malfoy smirked, but it was clearly not meant maliciously, more of an attempt at relieving the tension that was undoubtedly there. “And Blaise is always nice company.” 

And that was when it hit Harry. Zabini. His Covert Ops agent reminded him of Blaise Zabini. It was so completely obvious. How could he have missed _that_?


	3. The Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter was written to:  
> No Tourists by The Prodigy

It was the sort of establishment that in London would have been on Knockturn Alley: dark, depressing and usually filled with people who strongly valued their privacy. Zabini, or Francois as Harry had to call him in public, was already at their table when Harry came in, only looking up when Harry was almost right in front of him.

“Ah Kendrick, you’re here.” Zabini cast a quick, casual _Muffliato_ , before smiling at Harry professionally. They had been having regular meetings for the last three weeks, but nothing much had come of it yet. 

Zabini had been working undercover in the Dragon Cartel for almost six months, making his way up in the organisation slowly but surely and even though he still hadn’t seen their main facilities yet, he had actually gained enough trust to recently have been given the task of buying ingredients, especially the ones that were more difficult to procure.

Mostly because they were quite illegal.

And that was were Harry’s Glamoured identity came in. Kendrick Riggs, for all the Cartel knew, was a British Death Eater, who had escaped prosecution by fleeing the UK just before the Aurors got to him and who had since developed a knack for finding and selling ingredients that no one else could find.

At first Harry had worried about that part a bit, because they would have to produce these ingredients at some point for his character to be believable, but some of these things were actually very, very difficult to get a hold of, even for the Auror Department, because, well, they _were_ illegal and restricted. 

But Zabini had just told him not to fret (‘Really, it doesn’t do your Glamour any favours.’), so Harry had decided not to. 

“Anything new?” Harry asked, now the Muffliato was up.

Zabini shook his head. “Not much, really, no, although I _have_ picked up on a bit of information that could be really interesting.” 

Harry unconsciously leaned in a bit and Zabini instantly leaned back ever so slightly, then continued. “When I mentioned Kendrick being a Death Eater someone let slip that he, you, well Kendrick,” Zabini almost smiled at Harry, because of all these confusing identities, just before he apparently thought it wouldn’t fit his professional demeanour and dropped it again, “that _Kendrick_ might know the person in charge of the whole operation, the whole Cartel, because he’s apparently British and a Death Eater, too. So, allegedly we’re actually looking for a Death Eater.” 

For some reason Zabini’s last sentence sounded determined and slightly tired at the same time.

“So the Dragon Cartel seems to be headed by a British Death Eater?“ Harry repeated. Zabini nodded.

“Yes, although I still don’t have a clue as to whom it might be,” Zabini answered, his voice laced with badly concealed frustration for a moment, just before he caught himself again. “So I suppose we’ll have to find out.”

Harry just nodded, quickly taking a look at the menu that had been in front of him the whole time, as he now saw a waiter approaching. 

A few moments later Zabini ordered his meal in fluent French – Harry suspected all Slytherins must have had secret French classes in the dungeons – leaving Harry to just point out what he wanted to have on the menu.

***

Over dinner Harry and Zabini talked some more, about the case, the restaurant they were at - or whatever it was that people called this shithole - and the food which was usually actually quite good. And it was easy, as it had normally been over the last three weeks. 

Besides Harry had found that he worked even better with Zabini than he had anticipated. He had, of course, worked with him before, but it was even easier now, possibly because now they worked more closely together than they ever had. 

It really was quite pleasant.

“Is there something else we need to discuss? Because if there isn’t, I think I should leave. Malfoy needs to go to some charity thing this evening and I can’t risk being late. I think he would probably hex me into oblivion if I was.” 

Harry smiled at this, but Zabini didn’t, at least not at first. There was a glint of _something_ in his eyes, though, and Harry silently reprimanded himself. How could he possibly have forgotten that Zabini was actually a close friend of Malfoy’s. 

Zabini had averted his eyes and his voice was sort of soft when he finally spoke up: “I don’t think he would hex you, not anymore.” Then he looked at Harry and this time he did smile, amusedly so. “I think he would presumably just ignore you completely for some time, though.” 

Harry grinned at him. “It sounds like you’ve got some experience with that,” adding, because, well, technically Zabini was still Francois and Harry wasn’t to know who he really was: “Do you actually know Malfoy?” 

“No comment. And as for the other question: no, I don’t think we have anything else to discuss just now, so you’re free to leave and play bodyguard.” 

Harry took that as his cue to get up. 

And that was when he spotted it: a hooded person at the back of the room getting up just after he did, watching him for just a beat too long.

His Auror reflexes kicked in straight away. “Francois,” he heard the urgency to his own voice, “I think we’ve got company.” Zabini didn’t really watch the corner where Harry had just spotted the suspicious person, instead just inconspicuously sweeping the room as he put on his cloak.

“I suppose you’re right,” Zabini sounded completely in control, but Harry saw the way his body gained alertness. It reminded Harry of a cat. “I think we should take this outside.” 

Harry nodded. Whatever this would turn out to be, it wasn’t something to take on in an establishment full of witches and wizards and certainly not the ones that seemed to frequent _this_ place.

So out they went.

And the hooded person followed.

When they had walked for some time, Zabini guiding them to a deserted alleyway, Harry slowed down, looking at Zabini ever so briefly. Zabini just nodded.

They both turned in one fluid motion, like they choreographed it that way. 

The cloaked figure behind them gasped, wand in hand.

 _”Expelliarmus”_

Harry had cast it just before the figure yelled: _”Reducto.”_ his wand flying out of his hand, before his spell could actually take effect.

Both Harry and Zabini ducked out of the way, anyway, and before Harry could fire a sticking charm the person had already started running towards them, his hood flying off to reveal his face.

He was a mere boy, certainly no more than twenty years of age, but his face was set in determined anger.

“This is for my sister,” he yelled while throwing something that looked a bit like a black rock straight at Harry. 

Zabini cast a _Protego_ over both Harry and himself and it was so strong even Harry was impressed, the rock bouncing back off without as much as a chance of harming them.

It still exploded, though, taking their assailant by surprise: the boy hadn’t been able to get his full protection up in time, only having produced the weak beginnings of a shield.

He was hit by his own projectile, which now had fragmented into tiny bits that were partly able to penetrate his frail shield. 

His face and hands were instantly covered in small wounds that started bleeding almost straight away, his blood mingling with angry tears and his hands curled up in white-knuckled fists. 

He sagged to the ground frustrated and powerless and even though he had just tried to blow them to pieces twice, Harry still didn’t quite know what to make of him. He looked so young, so vulnerable. 

“Why were you following us? What do you want?” Harry noticed he didn’t sound half as intimidating as would probably have been wise.

“I-, I wanted to know what you were up to. I’ve seen the two of you here a few times earlier already and _you’re_ with the Dragon Cartel.” The boy spoke in fluent English, pointing an accusatory finger at Zabini. “And they-, I-,” he tilted his head defiantly even though he was still on the ground, “They should be destroyed.” His voice sounded clear now.

Harry and Zabini just looked at each other for one moment and they both knew what they were going to say, although they also both knew the risk: the Cartel could be testing their allegiance here. 

Harry just didn’t think that was it, though, the boy’s anger suggesting something else. It suggested he wasn’t just someone sent there by the Cartel to see whether Kendrick and Francois could actually be trusted: his anger seemed too real, too raw for that. 

He looked like someone who genuinely wanted to take revenge, whatever the consequences to himself might be.

It was Zabini who eventually said what they had both been thinking: “We quite agree.”

The boy looked at them in utter surprise. “But-, but you’re _with_ them. I’ve seen you. You can’t be-.” 

“I assure you we want to bring them down.” For a moment the boy just stood there, watching Zabini, looking into his eyes, trying to find the truth.

“Look,” Harry then started, ”we can’t tell you too much, but I can assure you: we don’t want to help the Cartel: we’re actually here to find enough information to completely destroy them.” And then he did something he had been told not to do, under no circumstances. His intuition told him to do it now, though, and he had always relied on his instincts. They’d never led him astray yet.

So he just did it. He dropped his Glamour. 

Zabini eyed him levelly, then cast a quick disillusionment charm over the three of them.

The boy saw Harry’s Glamour drop and then there was just surprise. “But, you’re Harry Potter,” he all but yelled. 

Harry nodded, he usually didn’t like using his fame much, but here, at this moment it came in handy. “Yes, and I’m certainly not here to help the Cartel.”

The boy just visibly deflated even further, utter relief on his face. “I’m so glad you’re here.” 

“So, tell us.” Harry just said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m David, David Goodwin, and they have my sister,” the boy simply stated. 

Then David started talking properly, about his sister Alice who had got involved with a man when living in France and about how this man had got her addicted to the pills the Dragon Cartel made and how, when she had finally decided to try and stop and get out of the relationship, she had owled her brother. She hadn’t made it to their meeting point, though, so her brother had gone to the coordinates she had provided in case anything went wrong. It had got him outside what he thought could be the Cartel’s headquarters. 

“I came to get her out,” David said, “but they just laughed at me, so I demanded to see Alice. Her boyfriend: John something, I don’t know his last name, came with her, though. He only came to have a laugh, I suppose, because he basically just told me to leave. Alice wouldn’t be coming with me, anyway, he said. She was in no fit state to actually leave even if he were willing to let her go. And he was right. She was completely out of it, hardly even remembered me at all.” David stopped talking, his words soft with tears. 

“I stuck around for almost two weeks, camping in the woods nearby, but I didn’t find a way in. I did see you go in and out, though,” he told Zabini who looked over at Harry briefly and Harry, like Zabini by the looks of it, realised this could mean Zabini had actually been working in, or close to, the Cartel’s headquarters all along. 

“So, when I saw you here, I just wanted to find out what you were up to. So-, you’re going to help?” The hope in David’s voice was almost painful.

Harry put a tentative hand on his shoulder. “We really are going to do everything we can to make them pay,” he said with feeling.

It was like that was all David had wanted to hear before giving in to the pain that must have been there since the projectile had hit him and Harry suddenly found himself on his knees in front of the boy, trying to keep him upright. “David, do you happen to know who the Cartel’s leader is? Or-, or anything else that could be of help to us?” 

David didn’t answer anymore, though, his face extremely pale. 

Zabini kneeled too, lifting the fabric of David’s cloak just a bit. “He’s bleeding everywhere,” he said, his voice quiet. He gave Harry a decided look and then coordinates. “It’s a hospital,” he continued. “Tell them you require the British Room.” Harry couldn’t help but shoot Zabini a look at that, so Zabini gave him a slightly sheepish smile and started to explain, fast: “We use it sometimes, it’s permanently disillusioned, a very limited amount of staff actually being allowed in, so most people won’t know David’s there. He will be treated and trust me, if he _can_ be nursed back to health, they will be able to do it. Besides I think it’s also his safest option right now. Now go!”

And that was exactly what Harry did. 

***

When Harry got back to Malfoy’s suite, he was late. 

David had been allowed into the British Room without further ado, but Harry had wanted to make sure he was alright, only leaving after the boy had been relatively stable, being put into some sort of medical stasis, to ensure he didn’t bleed out before they would be able to stop it. 

Because the Healers had not been able to stop the bleeding yet, although, given time, they thought it would probably be possible. Harry held onto that. He wanted to believe David would be alright.

When he had finally made it out of the hospital, Harry had wanted to find Francois, just to tell him what happened, but then he had realised he didn’t have any means of getting in touch with him. Francois always contacted him.

So he had made it back to Malfoy’s suite. Late.

When Harry came in, Malfoy was on the sofa in their shared living space, getting up the moment he saw Harry.

He was dressed to kill: a white shirt under formal robes in dark green ever so slightly threaded with silver at the hems and nicely fitted around the waist. Underneath he wore a waistcoat to match. 

Normally Harry would have commented on the rather Slytherin colouring, but now he resisted the urge, because, whatever Zabini had thought, this would undoubtedly be the moment that Malfoy was going to hex him. 

Except Malfoy didn’t.

Instead he just gave Harry a quick once over. “You should get some sleep,” was all he said next.

Malfoy didn’t even give him the silent treatment Zabini had predicted.

It left Harry confused: “You don’t need me to be your bodyguard tonight?” 

Malfoy gave him a small smirk. “Not _that_ much.” 

Then he Apparated out, leaving Harry completely at a loss. Was Harry supposed to be offended? Because he realised he actually felt a bit offended, but he also knew - or hoped perhaps - _that_ probably wasn’t what Malfoy had intended.

Harry had been with Malfoy for three weeks now and it hadn’t been half as awful as he had expected it to be. Okay, granted, most events that required Malfoy’s presence were rather daunting and just as uneventful as Harry had thought they’d be. 

The two of them had mostly been to different places in Belgium and Holland and all these events seemed to be just as terrible, the only difference being that Malfoy apparently didn’t speak any Dutch, which meant they actually conversed in English in the Dutch speaking areas, meaning Harry could understand every boring detail he heard. Which was definitely not always an advantage.

But Malfoy himself had been, well, nice almost. He hadn’t been his terribly infuriating school-self by far, instead he had been slightly teasing sometimes, smug now and then, but never full-blown antagonising. And Harry was proud to say he had succeeded in being friendly to Malfoy, at least most of the time, too.

Perhaps they had both grown up.

Or they’d both had the same speech about professionalism and decided to be just that.

Either way Malfoy had probably not meant to be annoying when he had left Harry just now. 

Most likely.

Possibly.

So Harry decided to go into the bathroom and find a mirror, just to know what he had looked like to Malfoy. 

Watching himself he concluded he didn’t look that bad: a bit ruffled, his hair an even bigger mess than usual, but nothing too horrible, nothing that warranted Malfoy to make Harry stay here, in their suite.

Harry just shrugged to himself, deciding to let it go for now, because, well, he actually _was_ quite tired. Tomorrow, when Malfoy had got back, he might address this. Perhaps. If he’d still want to. 

For now he chose to just enjoy his unexpected evening off: lounging on the sofa, going through different channels on the enormous television in their suite and eventually settling on some sort of murder mystery that was already half on its way when he started watching.

He didn’t last long before falling to sleep.

*** 

Harry woke up when the door to their suite was opened. 

Again no wards, so Malfoy. 

Harry registered, however, that Malfoy had apparently Floo-ed in, because he came in through the door. They could Apparate straight into their suite, but, this being a mostly Muggle hotel, there was no Floo in here: the only Floo in the hotel being in a separate room that could be opened by the right spell. Malfoy usually preferred Apparating, but he had evidently used the Floo room now.

So Harry sat up and watched Malfoy, curious.

“You’re still here?” Malfoy slurred. There was a surprised frown on his forehead and he squinted a little as if the lights in the room were a nuisance.

“Yeah, didn’t know it was forbidden.” Harry tried for what he hoped was a light, playful tone. “Do we actually have a no-sleeping-in-shared-space rule?”

Malfoy watched him as if it took him some time to process. Then he smiled languidly and kicked the door to the suite closed behind him, steadying himself on the wall at the same time. “I really don’t care where you sleep, Potter.” 

He made it into the room, carelessly shrugging his robes off and nearly missing the sofa trying to hang them over its armrest. 

“Malfoy, you’re drunk.” 

Harry hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but apparently he had, because Malfoy answered: “Well, I might be, just a bit,” which was followed by: “What? Do we actually have a don’t-come-here-drunk rule?” in an imitation of Harry’s previous words.

Well, Harry was just surprised. Malfoy had been to parties and events on a regular basis over the last three weeks, and yes, he usually drank the odd glass of wine, sometimes two, but Harry had never seen him drunk. Not like this, not even close.

“No, we don’t.” Harry had got up, standing next to Malfoy now and Harry supposed his smile was warmer than it had any business to be. He must still be really heavy-headed from sleep.

He kept eyeing Malfoy though and that apparently made Malfoy want to explain, mumbling: “A few of us went out after-, you know.” He didn’t expand on either the ‘us’ or the after what part, but he really didn’t have to. It didn’t matter. 

Harry only nodded. “Was it any good?” Harry actually found he cared. Somewhat. “Meet anyone you like?” Well now, _that_ had made it out of his mouth before he had given it any kind of permission to.

Malfoy didn’t seem to think any of it, though. He just shook his head, apparently finding he couldn’t do so without getting dizzy. Harry steadied him, putting his arm around Malfoy’s slim waist. “No, then I obviously wouldn’t have been back here already,” Malfoy answered. Harry felt his grip on Malfoy’s waist tighten a bit. Malfoy really was very unsteady. “Besides you-, I’m-, you’re _here_ and-. Merlin, I need to get to bed.”

The answer really left Harry none the wiser, but he found he didn’t really care anymore as he carefully walked Malfoy to his room, leaving his arm steadily where it was.

And Malfoy let him, swaying a bit, even with Harry’s arm still firmly wrapped around his waist. Fortunately Malfoy didn’t comment on that: probably quite accurately having decided that talking was not a particularly good idea just now. 

Harry only left him after he had undone all of the buttons that Malfoy’s shirt and waistcoat apparently had - figuring they would be much too difficult for him to undo in his current state – leaving him to finish undressing himself. There obviously were lines Harry didn’t want to cross. 

So, nothing strange there at all: he would have done this for all his friends.

_Friends_

Was that what they were now? 

Harry concluded it was too late to think about that at this moment, so he didn’t, instead just opting to turn the television off and go to bed.

It most definitely was time for him to go to bed.


	4. The Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter was written to:  
> Program by Chase & Status, IRAH

When Harry ordered breakfast the next morning Malfoy wasn’t up yet. Over the past three weeks, however, they’d fallen into a routine where they’d had breakfast together more often than not and Harry knew exactly what Malfoy normally had: toast, usually rather heavily buttered, and tea that was much too sweet to Harry’s taste. That was it.

So Harry confidently ordered for them both and sat himself down on the sofa.

The whole suite was silent and for some reason it bothered Harry. Except for the first day they’d usually been here together in the early mornings, then going their separate ways. Harry normally had things to do for the rest of the day: obviously meeting up with Zabini now and then, sometimes researching things about the Cartel and keeping in contact with Robards of course, which inevitably and regrettably also meant filling out paperwork. 

Except for Sundays _Malfoy_ never seemed to spend his days in their suite, though. (‘Really, Potter, why should I stay here: much too tedious. There are people to see and things to do throughout the day too, you know. Don’t worry, though. They’re hardly bodyguard-type meetings.’ Malfoy had actually smirked at that.) 

But today was a Sunday. And Malfoy had never been this late.

For some reason it irked Harry. Of course he knew Malfoy was probably dealing with a massive hangover so he wouldn’t be too keen on getting up, but …, Harry didn’t know why exactly: it just didn’t sit well. Would Malfoy be okay?

As soon as the thought had hit him, Harry found he’d got up. He actually _was_ Malfoy’s bodyguard, so he needed to make sure. He couldn’t just guess how Malfoy was: he needed to _know_. That was his job after all. 

So before he could really think about it, Harry went to Malfoy’s room, easing the door open as softly as he could possibly manage. He half expected Malfoy to be awake and extremely annoyed, so it was probably just self-preservation that made him move inside as quietly as he could.

Malfoy was very much not awake.

He was sleeping on his side, sort of hugging his duvet that throughout the night had apparently ended up completely on his front, exposing his back, his legs and …, well, the in-between bit, too. 

And he was just wearing his pants, nothing else.

Okay. Right.

Malfoy seemed to be breathing normally, though. Which was good. 

Okay, now Harry just had to make sure Malfoy really _was_ fine.

So Harry got slightly closer to the bed, watching Malfoy’s face, scanning for anything out of the ordinary, which he couldn’t find. That was good, too, of course.

That was when Malfoy groaned, though, and Harry, panic rising, registered it was too late to bolt, because Malfoy had also opened his eyes.

“Potter.” It was sleepily confused, but he still managed to sound arrogant enough, though. 

“Yeah, I just-, er-, I just thought you might like to know there’s breakfast,” Harry’s mind, actually really rather helpfully, supplied. 

Harry sincerely hoped breakfast would arrive quickly.

Malfoy turned on his back, getting the duvet to cover most of him in the same motion, then put one arm over his eyes, groaning again.

Yes, massive hangover, of course.

“Do you keep hangover potion somewhere?” Harry couldn’t help the slight tease in his voice. Malfoy was just so-, so _human_ like this.

“Yes, bathroom closet, top shelf.” Here Malfoy lifted his arm slightly, just to crack open one eye. “And stop gloating.” 

Harry smiled at him. And went into the bathroom to get the potion.

That was when Harry noticed their wards go off, signalling someone at the door. It probably meant that breakfast had arrived, beautifully in time. 

***

“Better?” Harry asked, looking up when he heard Malfoy, fully dressed now, come into their shared space.

“Yes.” Malfoy sounded, and looked, better, but there was something else too. The arrogance, that had been absent or laced with humour over the last three weeks was back in full force. It was there in Malfoy’s face, his pale grey eyes, the rigidity of his body and in the tone of his voice, condescending, disdainful, and Harry noticed it hurt. A lot. He had apparently started to like their usually rather amicable, sometimes teasing way of interacting more than he had realised. 

A way of interacting that Malfoy now seemed to have decided had been a particularly bad idea: it was almost like they were back in school again.

Was it, because …: “Malfoy, I shouldn’t have come into your room. I just-”

Malfoy stopped him with a decided gesture of his hand. “It’s fine, Potter.” He hardly looked at Harry at all. “I have somewhere I need to be.” 

And off he went.

Harry couldn’t think of any recent time when breakfast had tasted this awful. 

***

When Malfoy came back later that day, he acted slightly less conceitedly, just very quiet and Harry found he didn’t like that any better. 

“Do you have somewhere to be tonight? You know, should I dress up?” Harry tried to sound casual, playful even, but he probably didn’t get it right, because Malfoy shot him a slightly confused look. “I only meant, do you need a bodyguard tonight?”

Malfoy stopped looking confused: instead he didn’t really look anything much anymore. “No, not tonight,” he drawled. “I’m tired. I think I’ll retire to my room for a while.” 

And off he went again, into his bedroom this time. Harry didn’t think he’d ever heard Malfoy admit to being tired, not even when he’d clearly looked it.

Harry didn’t get a chance to think about it for a very long time, though, because it was only slightly later that the owl arrived. 

Harry heard it and let it in, finding that the parchment it was carrying was actually meant for him. He untied it quickly, giving the owl the small treat he kept in his pocket for this sort of thing, and read. 

The letter was from Francois, well Zabini, and it was very short and to the point. Zabini asked Harry to meet him at particular coordinates that evening, because he thought he had figured out the location of one of the Cartel’s research labs and, of course, he wanted to take a look. His question was simple. Did Harry want to come?

Harry’s answer was simple, too. And short.

 _Yes._

***

Zabini had asked Harry to meet him at ten, so that’s when Harry Apparated to the coordinates he’d been given. 

Harry had to admit he felt rather relieved and he told himself that was because he would finally be able to do something real tonight, something that could actually make a difference in this whole Cartel case. 

He definitely wasn’t relieved, because he couldn’t bear the way Malfoy had been giving him the silent treatment all afternoon - and all evening, too - for that matter. Malfoy had hardly been in their shared space at all, not even to have dinner and for the brief period he _had_ actually been there, he had barely said a word. 

And Harry found it drove him up the wall. It was even more infuriating than Malfoy’s arrogance, which was damn well saying something.

But all that was most definitely not why Harry was glad to meet up with Francois this evening. Harry was not a schoolboy anymore after all and Malfoy didn’t get under his skin like that. Not anymore.

“Kendrick.” Zabini’s whisper wasn’t loud per se, but clear all the same. 

Harry looked in its direction, where he could just make out Zabini’s, or rather Francois’, slim form leaning against a tree. Zabini had told Harry they would meet in full Glamour, like always. If someone found them like that, they would obviously be in trouble, but if they found Harry and Zabini in their normal appearances, they would most definitely be in more trouble.

“Where to?” Harry asked. 

Zabini pointed out a space somewhere at the other end of the clearing they were standing in. There was nothing there, but Harry knew if this really _was_ Cartel territory it would be heavily disillusioned and warded.

“Do you think we can get in?”

“Well,” there was the faintest level of doubt to Zabini’s voice, that was rather unlike him, “I think I can probably get us in, but there’s always a chance I’ll set something off, you know. It’s worth a try, though.” 

There was a slight question to his words and Harry felt the strong urge to nod. Not doing anything with this information seemed like wasting a good opportunity. They were here for recon mostly and that was exactly what they would be doing. 

Then a thought hit him. “So it could be really dangerous? To try and get these wards to yield?” As an Auror Harry had learnt to undo the more basic wards, but this was bound to be more complex: the sort of spell work an Auror would ask a curse breaker to come in and deal with.

Harry couldn’t see Zabini’s amused smirk, but he knew it was there when Zabini answered: “I didn’t know you of all people cared very much about that?”

That wasn’t what Harry had been thinking of, though. “I didn’t mean my safety, you pillock, I meant yours. I’m not the one that’s going to be trying to get the wards to yield.” 

Zabini didn’t say anything for a beat, almost as if he was surprised by Harry’s concern. It made Harry realise that Covert Ops agents usually worked on their own. They wouldn’t be used to someone in the field having their backs. Not like Aurors were, who always worked in pairs, relying on each other. 

When Zabini finally answered his tone was much more quiet. “Yes, well, that. We’ll just have to see. I suppose in a place like this they would just have mostly regular wards up, most likely with some twists. I should definitely be able to do something about those. And hopefully nothing else will happen.” 

“Okay, let’s give it a try.” 

***

Of course Harry had known these kinds of intricate wards – because whatever Zabini had said they seemed rather complex: Harry had recognised a few basic wards, but they seemed to be used in a different way altogether - had layers that needed to be taken apart, but he hadn’t been prepared for how beautiful that looked. With an almost lazy flick of his wand and a muttered spell Zabini had revealed the complicated layers the wards were noticeably comprised of.

“I think we’re in luck,” he had whispered, “They really are mostly standard wards with some alterations. I should be able to deal with these easily.” 

After that he hadn’t addressed Harry at all anymore, just setting to work on the wards.

And Harry watched. There was an elegance to Zabini’s movements that was almost enticing and seeing him slowly undo all the layers of spell work was really quite alluring. Harry was reminded of the reason he had ended up with Zabini, that one evening, in the first place. He knew it was this kind of grace that he was attracted to.

Perhaps Slytherins were taught that in secret classes too, just like French, Harry mused slightly resentfully.

***

Harry found Zabini’s idea of ‘easily’ was slightly different from his own as it took Zabini about an hour, but then the wards and spells had been taken apart enough for them to be able to pass through a kind of tunnel undisturbed.

And as soon as they were in, a building materialised. It wasn’t particularly big and had a low thatched roof and walls that looked like they actually had to make an effort to keep standing. The building really wasn’t much to look at and Harry almost wondered why the Cartel had bothered putting wards and disillusionment on it at all. 

Until he looked up at the chimney. 

There was smoke coming out of it, but it wasn’t grey, or white or even black. Instead it was a sort of murky brown, interlaced with the most beautiful strands of silver, gold, blue, pink and glints of still some other colours. 

Harry watched it, then thought of something: “Does that mean someone is in there, brewing?” he asked Zabini, indicating the smoke.

Zabini shook his head. “Not necessarily. The sort of potions and pills the Cartel manufacture usually take a long time. Some would have to be brewing for several days or even longer, constantly giving off smoke in the process. We should be careful, though,” Zabini watched Harry pointedly here, “I heard the Cartel don’t usually brew at night, but we can’t take anything for granted.” 

If Zabini’s pointed look had been bait, Harry decided not to take it, not even in jest. “Of course not,” he just said as levelly as he could manage. “I suppose this house is warded too?” 

Zabini didn’t even nod, just cast a diagnostic spell by way of an answer. There were wards, but they were considerably less than there had been on the outer layer and Harry recognised most of them as the sort of basic wards even he had been taught to dismantle. Zabini started on them straight away. 

It didn’t even take him ten minutes. Then they cautiously went through the door. 

The first thing that Harry noticed was the strong smell: sweet and persistent. And then it was gone. He looked at Zabini, who for some reason seemed to have understood what Harry meant even though he hadn’t said a word.

“Protection,” Zabini whispered under his breath, “Normally labs like this one are layered in protective spells to keep anyone who enters from inhaling fumes, as it could be dangerous, especially when you are brewing experimental potions.” 

They made the rest of their way in carefully and in silence, one step at a time. No one seemed to be in the house, though. No signs of life and everything completely silent, apart from five cauldrons lazily bubbling away.

“I’ll keep watch. I suppose _you_ know about potions?” Harry heard the slight smile that was hidden in his own voice. He knew _he_ was definitely not qualified to make sense of what the Cartel were brewing and, what’s more, he also knew Zabini was aware of how awful Harry had been at potions. He’d been in class with Harry after all.

“You supposed right,” Zabini just said, an amused glint in his eyes, before he went to the cauldrons, shooting diagnostic spells first, then going to have a look at the potions brewing. 

Harry just stood there, legs firmly planted, watching, trying to identify a threat, any threat before it could actually become dangerous. 

“Kendrick,” Zabini had this way of whispering annoyingly loudly sometimes. Harry looked around. Zabini was holding up a book of some kind. “Their log.” Zabini said and opened it: “They’ve logged all their experimental recipes.”

Next Harry felt it more than he actually saw it, but he knew it was wrong. Very wrong. The door made a decisive click and even though Harry knew exactly what it meant he still tried to open it. It didn’t work. Zabini tried the windows, but they were just as unyielding as the door.

They were trapped.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to just Apparate out, either,” Harry said flatly. Zabini shook his head.

Harry tried it anyway. And failed. Miserably.

“Unless I’m very much mistaken the Cartel will send the cleaners now.” Zabini said next. Harry must have looked puzzled, because Zabini added: “The Cartel uses them to clean up anyone that’s, let’s say, interfering. They will send them soon, because they would want this place to open for business as usual tomorrow. Without us in it, obviously.”

Then Zabini muttered a spell and the Cartel’s log shrunk. He fit it in his left sleeve somewhere. 

Harry nodded towards the entrance. “Both sides of the door?” 

“Okay.” 

They didn’t have to wait long, because the next moment the door was forcefully opened and three men came in, their wands at the ready.

 _”Petrificus Totalus.”_ Harry cast at the first wizard without hesitation, immediately ducking out of the way of the spells the second and third wizards were casting.

 _“Incarcerous.”_ Zabini had stepped out of his space behind the still open door and cast at the second man, who jumped aside just in time, as Harry cast at the third man, also missing by a hair. This third wizard was of stocky build, but also extremely broad and muscled. And it was clear from the determined set of his mouth and the way his eyes seemed to take everything in with a sort of natural insolence that he wasn’t used to losing. He didn’t move particularly fast, but what he lacked in speed he made up for by pure force, both in his body and spell work. 

Harry _was_ fast, though. That, together with his rather perfect aim, had always made him good at duelling. Which was something this fucker was definitely going to find out. 

Damn it! The man shot him a spell Harry didn’t recognise, but that couldn’t bode well and Harry cast his protective shield just in time, lowering it straight away to cast an _“Expelliarmus,”_ followed by a: _“Petrificus Totalus,”_. 

That actually did the trick. The man just hadn’t been quick enough. Hah fucking hah.

Then Harry watched Zabini, who was still fighting off assailant number two, but who didn’t really seem to need any help. Zabini bent backward impossibly low to evade a spell fired his way, while at the same time sending a spell towards his attacker full on. _”Incarcerous.”_ The man quite obviously wasn’t able to dodge that one, ropes shooting out to bind him.

“Well, thanks for nothing Potter.” Zabini was standing tall again, plucking a speck of dust off his sleeve, decidedly not watching Harry and for one moment Harry actually thought he meant it. Until he caught Zabini’s amused smirk.

Harry just smiled back at him. 

_”Somnimalum.”_

Fuck.

Harry’s own _”Expelliarmus.”_ wasn’t fast enough, so one moment Harry looked at the fourth wizard who had apparently been sent for them and the next he was on the ground, Zabini effectively having pushed Harry out of the way of the curse that had been cast at him. Harry felt their assaillant's wand hit his hand, then he heard Zabini gasp. 

Then silence. 

Harry turned. Zabini had rolled off him, but he wasn’t moving and Harry, to his horror, realised Zabini had been hit.

“Francois!” Harry had remembered not to use Zabini’s real name just in time.

“Go after him!” Zabini’s voice was really quiet, but insistent. “I’m not going anywhere,” He made a small attempt at a smile. “Get the fucking bastard!”

And Harry got up, apparently having registered somewhere at the back of his mind that the fourth wizard had gone out the side somewhere. 

It didn’t take him long to find the man. Vulnerable without his wand he was running through the fields surrounding the house. 

_“Stupefy.”_ Harry felt a strong, incessant anger running through his body now and although he hadn’t known he could fire a spell at this distance, he somehow managed and the man fell down. _“Incarcerous.”_ Harry, purposely walking towards the man, was really still too far off to be casting properly, but it worked all the same and the man was bound and gagged. Heavily. 

It felt utterly satisfying.

Then Harry levitated the wizard back to the cottage, so he could be put with his chums, whom Harry also stunned, just for good measure.

Next he went back to Zabini. Quickly.

Zabini was still exactly where Harry had left him. He was on his back, but even at this distance Harry noticed something was off and he recognised Zabini’s Glamour had probably failed, him being too weak to keep it up. 

Even then there was something terribly wrong, though, his skin so light it almost hurt Harry’s eyes. Harry made it there even faster, realising, with a shock of surprise, it wasn’t Zabini whom he was watching at all.

It was Draco Malfoy.

And he was even paler than he normally was, his skin showing blood vessels Harry didn’t even know existed. Besides Draco didn’t move, not at all, but his eyes were moving rapidly under his blueish eyelids, like he was dreaming. 

Harry kneeled next to where Draco was lying. What had the stupid fucker been thinking, shoving Harry out of the way, taking a curse that hadn’t even been meant for him. 

“Draco!” Harry called out.

At that Draco’s eyes snapped open. “Potter, I-, you-.” he was panting heavily, seemingly having trouble focussing.

“Don’t talk.” Harry’s voice came out remarkably softly. He had registered that Draco using his last name had actually hurt, but this was not the time to go into that. “I’ll take you to the British Room,” Harry just said. 

That seemed to temporarily focus Draco’s attention: “Yes, we-, we can’t risk, the Cartel finding out-.” His breaths were sharp and shallow. “When we're ready, here, just take me-, take me to hospital. Ask for Corentin. Corentin Didier.” 

Harry repeated the unknown name to himself, then nodded. 

“But first send Blaise-, your Patronus. You know, Zabini:-, I think you’re actually-, actually acquainted with him,” Draco tried to quip, but Harry could also hear something else, something remarkably like hurt somehow. Draco really, really wasn’t okay, still he went on, saying: “We have to wait-, for Blaise. Fill him in. He’ll clean up. Side-Along me out. Afterwards.” Draco was talking in short breaths, constantly panting.

“But-.“ Harry wanted to protest. They couldn’t wait for anyone. Not when Draco was like this.

Draco stopped him short, though. “I’m fine. Just brief Blaise.” 

Draco’s words had gotten increasingly difficult to understand, quite clearly invalidating what he was saying, but he watched Harry a beat longer, holding his gaze, before succumbing to whatever the curse was doing to him again.


	5. The Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter was written to:  
> De Witte Wieven - Baron 1898 (It's actually part of the soundtrack for a dive coaster on Efteling theme park, but it's also a nice piece of music, I think … .)

Time had never been this slow. Seconds seemed to go on for infinite minutes and nothing changed. 

Draco was still lying down, his eyes closed but moving under his lids and Harry was still sitting next to him, feeling utterly useless, willing time to go faster. Something time apparently didn’t seem particularly bothered by, though.

Harry had cast _”Tempus.”_ upon _”Tempus.”_ , just to see seconds pass into minutes when he heard something outside the cottage. He felt himself tense, all his muscles ready to do whatever they had to, if this was an unwelcome intruder again and he only relaxed when the familiar figure of Blaise Zabini, finally, _finally_ stepped inside, bringing two other wizards with him.

Zabini took in the situation in one annoyingly slow glance around the room. “I’m Draco’s handler,” Zabini answered a question Harry hadn’t asked, “He usually works with me when he’s on a case.” 

So _that_ was what Zabini was doing. It made perfect sense.

“So, what are we looking at here?” Zabini asked matter-of-factly and Harry filled him in on everything he and Draco had done, as quickly as possible. In the meantime Harry kept stealing glances at Draco that did nothing for his unease.

Draco was still very much asleep, dreaming.

When Harry had finished briefing Zabini, he pushed Draco gingerly: “Draco.” and Draco’s eyes snapped open again. “Can you stand? We can’t Apparate here.” He heard the panic lacing his words.

Draco nodded, getting up with great difficulty, clenching his jaw. He was barely able to keep upright, though, even with Harry supporting him and they only made it out of the cottage, out of the protective shield, with great effort.

When they were out eventually, Harry Apparated them both to hospital before Draco could lose consciousness again.

Draco fell heavily against Harry when they hit stable ground. He watched Harry for a moment, breathing audibly, in an obvious attempt to keep standing, keep his eyes open just a little longer. “Corentin Didier. You need-, to ask-, for Corentin Didier.” 

So that’s what Harry did when he was greeted by the same witch that had taken him to the British Room previously - when he’d brought David here - her presence somehow reassuring him a little.

When he asked for Corentin Didier she just looked at the two of them for a moment, as if debating something, then saying: “Corentin isn’t here, but I’ll Floo him.” 

Then she called out to a young nurse further on in the corridor. “Catherine, take them to room two. And Disillusion it.” 

Catherine turned towards them with a gentle smile, almost immediately waving her wand at Draco, taking his weight off Harry slightly. “I’ve cast a light Levitation spell,” she explained. 

Harry didn’t know whether he actually liked it, his arm still firmly around Draco’s waist, exactly where it had been when he had Apparated them.

“Harry-.” Draco said, once they had started walking to the room they’d apparently been assigned. Draco’s eyes were still open, but his breathing was even more shallow than before, his skin tone almost completely see-through now. “I er-. I can’t-, I know you don’t-.” 

“Draco, it’s okay. Don’t talk. Just-. I’m going to take you to your room. Okay?” Harry’s voice sounded reassuring and warm as he said it, which to his own surprise was exactly how he’d meant it. 

Draco frowned for the slightest moment as if he didn’t quite believe what Harry was saying. Then said: “Yes. Standing’s not-. I can’t really-.” 

Harry just pulled him in a bit closer. “Just don’t talk. Almost there.” 

As soon as Draco hit the bed, his eyes closed again, while he obviously let gravity take over, sprawling out with very little decorum. 

Then Harry heard someone clear his throat behind him and he turned around. 

It was a Healer.

“What did he get himself into this time?” the man asked, his English only slightly tinged with a French accent. Harry smiled despite himself. It wasn’t because of what the man had said so much, but more because of the relief of having a Healer here. Someone who would be able to help.

“He-, I don’t know really. He was cursed, but I don’t remember the exact spell. So you must be Corentin Didier?” The Healer just nodded and Harry quickly introduced himself, not wanting to waste too much time, but not wanting to be rude either.

“So he was cursed.” The Healer repeated matter-of-factly, not visibly fazed by the way Draco looked: pale, unmoving, just those eyes stupidly shifting underneath his lids.

“Yes, the curse was aimed at me, but he-.” Harry stopped, couldn’t actually say it. The Healer seemed to get him anyway, though. 

He nodded. “But you didn’t recognise the curse?” 

Harry shook his head. “No, it sounded like Latin, though, something beginning with Some-, ending in -um.” 

Corentin nodded again, obviously thinking. Then he set to work, casting numerous diagnostic spells in quick succession. In a way it looked rather similar to what Draco had done earlier, when they were getting into that damned, fucking house.

This time Harry found he had difficulty watching the spells, though: they were coming back in angry black and red lines over Draco’s unmoving body. It couldn’t mean anything good.

“Sir?” 

Harry hadn’t noticed the Healer turning to address him again. “Oh. Yes.” 

“I think I know what the spell is doing to Draco.” Draco. Why did this Healer call him Draco? What had earned him the right to call Draco by his first name? “The spell obviously makes him dream and if my readings are correct they aren’t pleasant dreams. I presume we’re dealing with some sort of nightmare spell that was designed for torture. Whoever attacked you must have wanted to extract information.” 

“So that’s why he wakes up when you call his name: to make sure that whoever is doing the torturing will be able to ask questions?” Harry felt anger boiling under his skin, almost spilling. It was a good thing that the sodding piece of shit that had cast this damn curse wasn’t here now. 

“Yes,” Corentin answered, “questions that you would be more than willing to answer to get the nightmares to stop.” 

Harry nodded. He knew exactly how devastating nightmares could be, having had his fair share of them after the war. 

“I also have every reason to believe the nightmares will get progressively worse. That would make sense with this sort of curse: to make sure anyone would spill their information eventually, however strong they are,” Corentin continued.

Up until now Draco had been quiet, but as if on cue he started talking in his sleep, his voice sounding strangled and utterly terrified: “No, don’t, don’t leave! The fire …, Harry!”. 

Harry reacted to his name immediately, leaping to Draco’s bed, sitting down. “Draco.” 

Draco’s eyes flew open, because that obviously was how this damned curse worked. “Harry, I-, You didn’t want to-.” He was panting.

Harry smiled at him reassuringly, taking Draco’s hand and squeezing it slightly without even thinking about it. “They’re nightmares. None of it’s real. You’re in hospital.” 

Draco nodded, still short of breath, but also slightly more put together. “I know, I just-.” Then he looked up at Harry, his grey eyes intent as if he was finally really seeing him. He fell silent for a bit, before saying: “You don’t need-, to stay. I’ll be fine.” His voice was both tired and absolutely genuine.

Draco fought to keep his eyes open only a little longer, then gave in to the curse again.

Now Draco had fallen asleep again the Healer addressed Harry: “I’m afraid I won’t be able to cast when you’re on the bed.” He said it almost apologetically.

Harry reluctantly made it off the mattress.

“But you do know how to reverse this?” Harry asked next. 

Corentin hesitated slightly and Harry involuntarily held his breath for a moment. 

“I think I will be able to. I just don’t know how long it will take, though.” 

***

“Ah, Corentin, _you’re_ here,” Zabini said as he stepped into Draco’s room. Harry saw how Zabini’s posture had visibly relaxed a little when he’d seen the Healer. Corentin just shot him a quick glance, nodded in acknowledgement and went on casting.

Harry saw how Draco had hunched in on himself now, his body shaking violently and Harry closed his eyes, forcing his gaze away, focussing on Zabini instead. 

“How did you-?” Zabini started to ask Harry, then obviously changed his mind. “No, not important. I’m glad Corentin’s here. If there is anyone who can find the counter-curse to this, it’s him.” 

Then a thought struck Harry. “Does Corentin normally work in the British Room?” 

Zabini hesitated a beat, then just answered: “He used to.” He didn’t elaborate on it any further, though, asking: “So, how is he?”

Zabini didn’t need to tell Harry which ‘he’ he was referring to. 

And Harry started explaining, about the nightmares that had gotten worse and worse, so that Corentin was now working under a one-sided silencing spell to make sure no one else heard. And about Corentin telling him it would get better, that it was only a matter of time before he would find the right counter-spell.

Corentin had been casting for hours now.

“He _will_ solve this, you know.” Zabini’s voice came out soft and insistent at the same time, as if he was also trying to convince himself. 

Then he switched to: “We’ve taken those four bastards into custody, by the way. They’re in secured cells completely off the grid, so the Cartel won’t know what happened to them. That’s necessary so as to not compromise your Glamours, but I think it might also be for their own good. The Cartel doesn’t usually take kindly to their people being captured. Captives form a liability, you know, in case they would be inclined to start spilling beans.” A sly look crossed Zabini’s face. “I think I should probably be talking to them from that perspective. Might get us some intel.” 

“Can I do anything?” Harry heard the plea hidden in his words. He wanted to be involved, make sure those ugly bastards spilled _all_ their secrets. Just standing here, while Draco-. It didn’t make sense.

Zabini looked at him for a brief moment. “I think you should probably try and get a few hours of sleep. I’ll inform you if there is any progress on the case.” 

Harry just watched Corentin. 

“And I’m sure Corentin will inform you, too.”

***

In the end Harry had not been able to drag himself to their suite, to bed, instead trying to get some sleep on the chair in Draco’s room and not being particularly successful at it.

Sleep just kept eluding him. He did doze off a few times, but it never lasted long and Harry wasn’t even sure that he wanted it to, anymore.

Draco’s nightmares had visibly intensified even further. Harry could see him screaming and the fact Harry couldn’t hear it did nothing to make it more bearable. The pure horror on Draco’s face, the fear, it was all there anyway. It didn’t take an awful lot of imagination to know what it would sound like.

Then, after the screaming, Draco curled in on himself completely, and he started shaking. Again not much imagination needed, even without the sounds coming through the Silencing Charm.

Harry had watched Corentin cast furiously for a while, now shooting a diagnostic.

The black lines were still there, but the red ones that had been there earlier had disappeared.

It had to be progress and Harry found himself within the bounds of the Silencing Charm in no time.

“What does it mean?” he asked Corentin, indicating the remaining black lines.

“I think-, I think it means that the part of the curse that makes him respond to questioning has been dealt with.” 

“So does that mean-?” Harry felt dread fill his stomach even before he had consciously processed this information. And when his brain _had_ actually processed it, that didn’t really make it any easier . He knew what this had to mean, but he didn’t want to even think about it. It couldn’t mean that. It just couldn’t.

Corentin, however, nodded gravely. “It means he’s stuck in the nightmares. For some reason I can’t seem to get that part of the curse to budge,” he said, adding quietly: “I don’t think they designed it to be lifted.” 

Harry felt his anger rise, he wanted to argue, but then he noticed how tired and wan Corentin looked, speaking with an edge of desperation to his voice that Harry really, really, really didn’t want to hear.

Then Draco started screaming again: desperate and terrified.

“Draco,” Harry said urgently, but, as Corentin had indicated, Draco didn’t react anymore. That part of the curse had indeed been lifted. 

Well, some fucking progress that was.

“Harry!” At first Harry thought Draco had got out of his nightmare anyway, but his eyes were still closed. “The fire-, Harry!”

A crestfallen look and then Draco curling in on himself again, shaking, crying. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have-, taken me-, out-, either.” His words were quiet, resigned.

And all of a sudden Harry knew. He knew what Draco was dreaming. He’d had nightmares about it too, for years and years.

The room, the fire.

So, ignoring Corentin the Healer who tried to stop him, he sat next to Draco, taking his hand again: “I _will_ take you out, Draco. No, even better: I _have_ taken you out. I could never have left you there.” And he repeated it, over and over, and over again, until Draco would actually hear it. 

He just _had_ to actually hear it.

At first Harry didn’t really believe it when he thought he heard the sobs lessen. But then they slowly subsided altogether and when Harry looked at Draco’s face he looked straight into the silver of his eyes. 

They were open.

Draco made to sit upright, still looking slightly dazed as if he hadn’t been able to pull himself out of his dreams completely yet, but definitely more lively than Harry had seen him since the curse had hit.

It was Corentin who spoke up next: “That was-, well, very interesting indeed,” he said and when Harry looked at him there was a frown between his eyebrows and a surprised glint in his eyes that seemed mingled with something Harry didn’t quite get. “I really didn’t think this would have been possible,” he went on to say almost inaudibly mumbling to himself.

Then he seemed to shake himself out of it, however, saying: “You should let Draco sleep now. He needs to rest properly.” 

Harry didn’t move away from the bed, though and he thought Corentin would surely make him, but the Healer didn’t, instead just giving him a small, and still slightly puzzled smile. “I should probably just leave you to it,” Corentin proceeded to say, still eyeing Harry and Draco as if they were something quite special. Harry had seen that look often enough to recognise it anywhere. “Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do or if -, you know, anything changes.” 

Then he Apparated out. 

Harry focussed on Draco again. “So, how are you feeling?” He heard his voice sound soft, as if he was afraid to startle Draco back into his dreams again.

“I’m fine.” Draco sounded more in control than he actually looked: his hair a very uncharacteristic mess and his clothes rumpled. 

“Of course you are. Francois,” Harry said, pointedly looking at him, trying to soften the look with a faint smile. 

Draco averted his gaze. “Yes, about that. I-, I suppose you didn’t-.” 

He didn’t seem able to finish the sentence. 

So Draco didn’t even try to, casting a quick _Tempus_ instead. “It’s almost a quarter to nine. I need to leave. I have to be in at nine,” Draco’s voice sounded slightly frenzied now, the control seemingly having slipped a little.

Harry watched Draco get up, too incredulous to say or do anything at first. Then he just managed: “Draco, you heard what Corentin said. You should sleep.”

Draco gave him a quick, rather surprised look, that Harry didn’t quite know what to make of. Then Draco composed himself. “What do you presume the Cartel will think if there was a break-in in one of their research facilities and then the next day one of their potion’s masters doesn’t turn up? Doesn’t much sound like a coincidence, now does it? And _they_ will _certainly_ not think it is.” 

Harry could see Draco’s point, although it really didn’t sit well with him. Not at all. Draco still looked too pale, unsteady, tired. “Then at least bring me in. You know, introduce me. Today.” 

Draco stopped in his tracks, considering him for a moment. “Well, David said something about headquarters being on the premises where I, well Francois, works and I-, well, I may have a hunch where those headquarters could be. So I might actually just do that: introduce you today. I’ll first have to check something, though.” He seemed to think for another moment, then said: “In any case: let me tell you where the ingredients are that your Glamour will be selling. Without those you won’t be able to make it in regardless.”


	6. The Lair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter has been written to:  
> Moonlight by The Piano Guys

“Kendrick Riggs. I’m here to see Francois Mauvay,” Harry introduced himself when he got to the gate that seemed to belong to a large estate. 

The guard on the other side of the fence regarded him for a brief moment. “Yes, Mr Mauvay told us you’d be here.” Then he strolled back to the small building he had come from, talking to someone apparently still inside. Shortly after an owl took off.

Then silence. The guards, both out now, eyed him constantly, while Harry switched between eyeing them right back and taking in the vast grounds beyond the fence where nothing seemed to move.

Harry felt utterly relieved when he heard the crack of Apparition. First he saw nothing, though, but then Francois appeared, approaching the fence. 

Francois addressed the guards first. “It’s him,” his tone commanding, almost daring them to question his authority. They quite obviously didn’t take the dare and consequently opened the gate mumbling a spell, letting Harry in.

The grounds - that had looked so quiet from outside - now had trucks and people in them and on the other end a large building materialised.

Still within earshot of the guards, Francois started talking. “Kendrick, so glad you could make it. Did you bring the goods? Because we would very much like to see what you would be able to supply us with and whether the quality meets our standards. Our previous supplier was found sorely lacking in that respect.” 

Of course he was. All of a sudden Harry was quite sure Draco himself had had rather a lot to do with the ‘lacking’ part of the previous supplier.

“I’ve set up a meeting with our head, so you can show us what you can deliver.”

Then Francois, well Draco, took Harry’s arm and Side-Alonged him just like that, without any kind of warning. 

“What the-?” Harry started.

“Sorry, visitors are not allowed to Apparate in here.” Draco didn’t sound sorry, not even remotely.

They seemed to be in the large building Harry had seen on the other end of the grounds now, at least that’s what Harry thought judging by what he could make out through the largely glass doors he was currently staring at.

“Through here.” Draco gestured to a door opposite to where they were standing. It lead to a long corridor to the side of which there were two enormous halls in which potioneers were brewing in large cauldrons. Then a third in which people were sitting at rows of tables, seemingly doing something meticulous and complicated.

Then the end of the corridor and a door. Draco knocked an intricate rhythm.

“Come in.” 

When they did, Harry was looking at a rather beefy man in his forties, who watched him warily and expectantly all at once. They shook hands. “Mr Riggs. Glad you could make it. I’m John Jones.” Yeah, of course he was. Harry wasn’t entirely sure with how many pinches of salt he should take that name. It sounded rather made-up. 

“So let’s see whether you would be able to help us,” Mr Jones continued.

So Harry produced the ingredients Draco had told him to bring and showed them. 

The next half an hour or so were spent assessing the ingredients and talking about their respective qualities. 

Harry was exceedingly glad that Draco had made him learn all their different uses by heart as part of the homework Harry’d had to do for his Glamour. And that he had actually put in the work. It definitely paid off now.

In the end Mr Jones decided Kendrick actually knew about his ingredients and how to get the good stuff and when he shook Harry’s hand again, agreeing on the sale, it was decidedly less warily and more expectantly. “We would like to take these ingredients off your hands. I understand you already negotiated a price with Mr Mauvay?” Harry just nodded. “And we look forward to your next visit. When do you think you could produce the rest of the ingredients on our list?” 

Harry hesitated a minute, appearing to think. Then answered: “Let’s say I’ve already been asking around for them for some time and I’m fairly sure my contact will come through this evening. I’ll most probably be able to bring them tomorrow.”

“And they’ll be of the same high quality?” 

“Yes, most definitely.” Harry was quite certain Draco’s personal stock of ingredients was completely up to par. Draco had told Harry it had taken him much effort to complete his set of rare ingredients once he’d become a qualified master potioneer, the only people actually allowed to have such things on stock. 

Draco hadn’t been particularly happy at the prospect of losing them to the Cartel. 

“Could I take Mr Riggs to our gardens now?” Harry’s thoughts were cut off by Draco’s question.

Jones nodded, directing himself at Harry. “It would be our pleasure if you could take some of our produce off our hands. As Mr Mauvay has probably told you, we grow some of our ingredients ourselves, the stuff that actually likes the climate here that is, but some of the plants tend to do a bit too well. And I heard you would be interested in selling those on for us?” 

“Of course,” Harry simply answered. “Mr Mauvay showed me a few very interesting specimen the other day. 

*** 

Instead of Apparating, Harry and Draco walked to the gardens: “They’re heavily warded so you can’t just Apparate in. Besides, I like walking _here_.” Draco said, pushing Harry slightly out of his way, toward a rather nasty looking bush. Harry looked around, knowing Draco must have meant something he couldn’t just tell him.

And then he felt it: the push of wards much stronger than those at the gate. They weren’t just keeping him out, though, but almost made him _want_ to stay away. It was like he was being steered anywhere else. 

Harry felt the feeling of repulsion that came with those wards wash over him. Then, realising it wasn’t actually _his_ repulsion, pushed it off. 

It felt like resisting _Imperio_ if anything. 

“You can actually keep standing there?” Draco’s voice, barely audible, sounded incredulous, in awe. 

Harry just nodded, then stepped towards Draco again. “Yes, but it-, I needed to push something off first.” 

“Of course you did.” Draco said it still whispering, managing to sound rather disdainful, while simultaneously shooting Harry an amused smirk. “Let’s just say, you’re not supposed to be able to push it off. That is, if you’re not _you_ apparently.”

Draco paused, then continued: “I think it’s where Headquarters are hidden.” 

“That would make sense,” Harry replied, pondering. “How do we get in?” 

“Not now, I should think,” Draco ‘s voice was light, but there was an edge to it as if he was afraid Harry might still want to barge in at this particular moment. “I think we should schedule your next meeting much later in the day, around dusk maybe?”

Harry smiled: “I suppose that would make sense. So where are these gardens you wanted to show me?” 

***

Harry had had an extensive visit to the Cartel’s secret gardens where there were so many illegal, and rather vicious, plants he was glad he and Draco had got out without being burnt, stung or otherwise incapacitated. Then he had left the Cartel’s grounds, leaving Draco to get to their suite later.

Much later.

It had gone nine in the evening already and Draco had never been this late.

Harry was pacing and he only stopped when he heard the crack of Apparition and looked up. It was Draco. 

“Where the hell have _you_ been?” Harry couldn’t help but spit out.

Draco just watched him for a moment, apparently unable to grasp exactly what Harry meant. “You _know_ where I’ve been.” His voice was cold. “You know exactly-.” He also sounded extremely tired, his voice cracking a little at the end and Harry only now noticed he was very pale, swaying a bit.

“You’re really late. I didn’t know-. I thought about going -.” Harry voice had become much softer. He had actually worried about Draco and he found he couldn’t really care if Draco figured that out, anymore. “I didn’t know if you were, you know, okay.” 

“Quite okay, I assure you. They just interviewed me: about how I knew you, whether you were to be trusted, that sort of thing. I think I was able to tell them what they needed to hear, though.”

Harry watched him for a long moment. He was quite sure there was something Draco wasn’t telling him and Harry though he had a pretty good idea of what that could be. “Legilimency or plain torture?” Harry heard his own voice taking on a sharp edge.

“Not important,” Draco briefly closed his eyes. “They bought what I told them. In the end. You are going to see John again tomorrow evening. Bring your cloak.” 

Then he turned, presumably to leave the room, but he stumbled a little and Harry was there, steadying Draco by his elbow, before he’d even noticed. 

“Not that again.” Draco’s voice was just utterly tired now. “I don’t need your help, Potter.” The words were there, but his voice lacked conviction as if he couldn’t bring himself to fight anymore. 

It made Harry hopeful in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Of course you don’t,” Harry found his voice sounding overly cheery, ”but you’re going to have to put up with it anyway. Come on.” 

Harry still half expected Draco to bat his arm away when he slid it around Draco’s waist, but Draco didn’t, just sighing slightly instead, resigned if anything. 

Harry passed him a sidelong glance. And found Draco watching, confusion in his eyes and incredulity and something else, something so vulnerable that Harry just wanted to draw him in closer, not letting him go. Not ever letting him go.

It was a feeling that Harry knew. A feeling that definitely didn’t come with people he was just friends with, though. 

And he found it didn’t even shock him anymore, either. The feeling was there and for some reason it made complete sense: Harry realised he’d had this feeling for a while now, he just hadn’t recognised it for what it was. 

Because, well, he was having it for Draco sodding Malfoy.

“Draco, I-,” he started, when they were sitting on Draco’s bed, trying, rather stupidly, to tell Draco how he felt. Draco was watching him, his eyes soft and vulnerable in a way Harry couldn’t remember ever having seen them. “Do you know I-,” Harry made another attempt at telling him even more stupidly. And quite as fruitlessly.

Draco smiled a little, languidly, unfocussed, then unexpectedly leant his head against Harry’s shoulder. “’S nice.” 

He promptly fell asleep there.

Apparently this was not an evening for disclosures.

***

When breakfast had arrived around a quarter past eight the next day, there was still no sign of Draco and Harry didn’t quite know what to do about it. He didn’t want to invade Draco’s privacy by walking into his bedroom like last time. That hadn’t been particularly well received. 

But then again, Draco wasn’t up yet and Harry really wanted to make sure he was okay. 

Then Harry heard the wards react to someone at the door. It obviously couldn’t be breakfast anymore, so Harry went to the door as stealthily as he could. When he peered out into the corridor, he saw it was Blaise Zabini, though, conspicuously leaning against the wall opposite their door, easy to spot.

“I heard Draco discharged himself yesterday,” Zabini started as soon as Harry’d let him in. Zabini smiled at this as if he hadn’t expected Draco to do anything else. “And I take it he’s alright, otherwise I would have heard, but I thought I might check anyway. It’s not like we have to keep anything a secret from _you_ anymore.” Zabini smiled a slightly mischievous smile and Harry didn’t quite know how to take it. He hadn’t exactly asked to be kept out of that particular loop. 

So he decided to ask, not quite managing to keep the indignation out of his voice: “Why hide it from me in the first place?” 

Why the bloody hell hadn’t he been told whom he would be working with? Draco’s identity would have been safe with him. He knew he could keep a secret: he’d had quite enough experience with that for fuck’s sake.

Zabini just gave him an odd look for a moment, furrowing his brow. “Draco didn’t want you to know. He thought it would put you off.” Harry wanted to start telling Zabini how uncalled for that was, how ridiculous, but Zabini didn’t give him a chance to, saying: “Well, would you have taken on this assignment if you had known you’d be working with Draco Malfoy on everything? Honestly?” snidely adding, when Harry didn’t give in straight away: “Perhaps I need to remind you I actually saw your face when you’d only heard you were going to be Draco’s _bodyguard_.” 

Okay. Right. Perhaps that might have been a slight problem. Zabini obviously didn’t put it past Harry to have declined this assignment purely on the basis of having to work with Draco on all of it and frankly Harry didn’t quite put it past himself either.

“Well, Draco wouldn’t have wanted to work with me, either,” Harry huffed, but instead of agreeing Zabini gave him a strange look. And Harry belatedly realised he’d actually called Draco _Draco_ , not Malfoy, but Draco. Out loud. To Zabini.

“Wouldn't he now?” was all Zabini said, though. 

Harry decided not to go into that, keeping silent for a bit, while Zabini briefly studied him, a slightly puzzled expression on his face that was almost gone the moment it had appeared. Then he just said: “I take it Draco went to work at the potions lab after he got himself out of the hospital?”

Harry nodded, starting to tell Zabini about the rest of yesterday: how he had been brought in and how Draco – Harry had decided he’d keep calling Draco by his first name whatever Zabini might think - had most likely located the Cartel’s headquarters. He ended his story by telling Zabini that Draco had been in late and quite exhausted, most likely having been rather unpleasantly questioned.

“Is his position compromised?” Zabini obviously shared the concern Harry hadn’t actually allowed himself to think about yet.

“Draco doesn’t think so. They bought his story and let him go.” Harry heard the doubt edging his words regardless. 

Zabini nodded slowly: “So you’re going to go back in? Together?” 

“Well, I’m going to bring them the final ingredients this evening and Draco will obviously be there already. We will most probably try to get into headquarters after the sale has gone down.” 

Zabini nodded again, obviously thinking. “You will need these,” he then said, producing two thin bracelets made out of braided leather.

“Portkeys?” Harry asked. 

“No,” Zabini said, an amused smile on his lips, “I doubt Portkeys will work where you’re going. No, they’re more like alarms: you will need to cast the appropriate spell and touch your bracelet while casting it. The bracelet will send an alert my way and provide me with your location. It acts more or less like a Patronus. Well, less conspicuously so, of course, because, well, without the actual Patronus.” 

Zabini proceeded to put the bracelet securely around Harry’s wrist. “And I think you really should be careful.” Zabini’s dark eyes were completely serious, betraying real worry for the first time. “And please use the bracelets if necessary, because Draco-.”

“Draco what exactly?” Draco was just standing there, eyeing them suspiciously, almost angrily, his jaw clenched and his grey eyes very nearly shooting daggers at them. Zabini, completely unfazed, stepped back from tying the bracelet around Harry’s wrist. He had obviously worked with Draco before. 

Harry couldn’t help his eyes wandering back to Draco, though. Draco seemed somewhat calmer now Zabini had stepped away, which gave Harry the opportunity to watch him properly: Draco looked like he had completely understood what Harry had tried to confess to him the previous evening and had consequently decided to tease Harry about it. 

By looking so good it made it almost impossible for Harry to breathe for a moment. 

He was wearing a pair of beautifully tailored, black trousers, a fitted, white shirt and a dark grey waistcoat that accentuated his slender waist perfectly. Why did he always have to wear waistcoats? They were rather old-fashioned, even in the wizarding world nowadays, and they certainly had no business looking so absurdly and stunningly good on Draco it was almost unfair. 

Harry felt entirely underdressed again. 

Fortunately they would both be Glamoured up and wearing robes over their clothes when they were working. That would definitely be a lot less distracting.

“I was just explaining the use of your bracelets to Harry,” Zabini said to Draco meanwhile, not exactly answering Draco’s question. He had actually stepped back from Harry quite a bit. Then he added: “So, feeling better?” Zabini’s tone was breezy, but Harry heard the genuine concern underlying it.

“Much.” Harry knew Draco’s answer probably was as meaningless as it was short, but Zabini obviously knew better than to question it.

“Good. Now I could definitely do with some tea.” Zabini drawled instead, eyeing the pot Harry had ordered Draco for breakfast. Harry himself only started functioning after a cup of coffee in the morning.

Draco poured Zabini his tea, obviously knowing exactly how he took it and Harry felt something stir inside of him that he wasn’t particularly proud of. 

Then Draco slanted a glance in Harry’s direction and proceeded to pour Harry’s coffee, adding just the right amount of sugar, no milk. 

Harry felt himself give him a surprised but pleased look: they didn’t usually pour each other anything. Draco just shrugged.

Breakfast proceeded easily enough after that, them talking anything but the case and when Blaise got up, getting ready to leave, it was almost a quarter to nine.

Draco would have to leave soon.

So Draco proceeded to get up with Blaise and walked him out, taking his bracelet from him and getting his own robes while he was at the door, putting them on straight after Blaise had left. 

Harry just watched him, trying to ignore his gut screaming he shouldn’t let Draco do it, he shouldn’t let him leave, not now, not to _that_ place. 

“I should be going too,” Draco quite superfluously stated. He sounded slightly hesitant, as if he wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea, either. 

Then he visibly squared his shoulders.

“Draco?” 

“Yes?” Draco turned to face Harry, but he didn’t say anything else, not even commenting on the use of his first name. His gaze was intent, though, almost expectant.

“I-,” Harry checked himself: he shouldn’t blurt out anything stupid, possibly embarrassing even, when Draco was about to go out. They couldn’t talk right now. Not really: there was no time. “Just be careful, okay?” was all he settled for instead. 

Draco didn’t say anything, only nodding, a very faint but somehow reassuring smile on his lips.

Then just the swirl and crack of Apparition.


	7. The Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter was written to:  
> You're not alone by Jed Kurzel ('Assassin's Creed' soundtrack)

When it was time for Harry to appear at the Cartel’s estate again, he was more than ready. Although Harry had felt like this particular day had actually put up a real fight not to have to go anywhere, it had eventually had to give in: it had gone by.

So the time had come for him to leave and Harry felt relieved. He might not know what he was getting himself into exactly, but there had been very few incidences in the past where he actually had. Besides he was going to see Draco, albeit in his Glamour: he was going to know whether the prat was okay.

And that absolutely seemed to be the most important thing right now. 

If Harry had had any doubts about how he felt about Draco before, this would have been a dead giveaway. No room for doubt there.

***

The prat was okay. 

Francois had appeared down at the gate, just like the day before, Side-Alonging Harry to the main building (not quite as uncomfortably as the day before, because this time Harry had been ready for it) and taking him to John Jones’ office, where the sale of the remaining illegal potions ingredients had been easy and swift.

Then Draco had asked Jones whether he could take Kendrick for a walk around the grounds. A look that Harry didn’t quite get, passed between Francois and Jones at that. Then Jones just gave the two of them a sly smile and nodded.

When Jones couldn’t see them anymore Draco asked Harry to use his cloak to cover them both. They had to crouch a bit to fit, keeping close to each other, close enough for Harry to smell Draco’s cologne. It actually was rather nice.

“Won’t they get suspicious when we don’t turn up anywhere for a while, when I don’t leave any time soon?” It had been nagging at Harry’s brain from the moment he’d covered them both up.

Francois, well Draco, gave Harry a slightly strange look. “Well, I might have said that I think you are, you know, fit, on more than one occasion. So, I expect John’d just think we er-, well-.” Draco obviously felt embarrassed, blushing bright enough for it to show, even on Francois’ much darker complexion and Harry felt his stomach drop. Heavily, as he realised Draco obviously didn’t want him in that way, being embarrassed by pretending that he did.

It took Harry a lot of effort not to show how he felt about that, just asking: “So, that’s no problem here? Falling for blokes?” His voice still sounded smaller than he had wanted it to.

Draco gave him a slightly bemused smile: “Who said anything about _falling_ for anyone. But casual sex, with whomever you want and with or without the aid of the Cartel’s drugs, no problem at all.” He said it almost disdainfully.

Yes, right, of course.

Harry was glad he could already see the nasty looking bush they wanted to have a closer look at this evening.

When they got there they found that if Harry stood on the edge of the wards, beside the bush, on the spot where no one else could actually keep standing, it was possible for Draco to stand next to him and work on undoing the protective spells. 

Again, just like at the cottage, Draco set to work methodically, carefully discarding layer after layer of intricately interwoven wards. And Harry was just as mesmerised as he had been a few days ago, realising that although Draco had never said so, he was probably much more than just average at this.

Again it took time – the sky had gone completely dark by now, the only lights coming from the orbs that were apparently floating at set intervals all over the Cartel’s grounds - but then there was a tunnel that took them through the wards.

When they had made it through the tunnel, the bush that had been there before, just disappeared into thin air: a cave, not much more welcoming by the looks of it, appearing in its place. 

Inside it was dark and damp, condensed water clinging to the walls. Harry chanced a small Lumos, barely visible on the tip of his wand, but enough to at least know where they were going, where the way lead. 

The only way available lead through a waterfall. 

Fuck. 

Harry looked back at Draco and the look of determination he found there matched his own. 

They were going through.

The waterfall was exactly as Harry had imagined it to be: very cold and wet, but when he looked back at Draco he saw it was much more than that: Draco had stopped being Francois and when Harry looked down at himself he saw his hands were not Kendrick’s anymore either, but his own. 

Like Draco, Harry tried to Glamour back up again, but it didn’t work. The waterfall had apparently taken care of that, reminding Harry of the waterfall at Gringotts: it wasn’t like they couldn’t use magic here at all: Harry’s Lumos still worked perfectly well. It was just their Glamours that failed. 

Fucking fuck.

Again Harry turned around, silently conferring with Draco, deciding to go on whatever. They hadn’t come this far just to turn back again. 

And for some reason Harry was almost glad he saw Draco, not Francois, but _Draco_ , with his distinctive blonde hair and pale complexion. It was strangely comforting to have him here, in this really rather disturbing situation – Harry could admit to that much - as himself, as Draco. 

They made it further down the cave together.

The first open space they came to appeared to be some sort of admin office. It was a large hall filled with desks, obviously meant to keep track of the Cartel’s finances, their business dealings. Now, as expected, it was completely deserted, though.

Draco and Harry both looked around the room, filing it to memory for future reference. Then went on.

They found some other rooms like the large office space, but smaller. And then they made it to a huge, carved door. 

Harry knew that this room had to be important, before he’d even been inside, so he peeked in with extreme caution, opening the door by only a fraction. He obviously hadn’t been careful enough, though, because as soon as the door had opened he heard a poof and was hit with something that looked like pinkish powder. He couldn’t help but breath it in and at first he thought it was actually meant to choke him.

On impulse he stepped back, not wanting Draco to enter, holding him back and by doing so simultaneously taking himself out of the room again too. 

On second thought the powder didn’t appear to be intended to choke him, though, as after a few seconds it seemed to be gone and his breathing became normal again. 

Harry looked back at Draco, who watched him with such concern it almost hurt. “I’m fine,” Harry’s voice sounded warm and reassuring: he needed to make Draco know everything was fine. “I don’t think it was actually meant to hurt me. Perhaps it was there by accident, you know, left over from some deal or other.” 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m worried about,” Draco muttered. He didn’t seem at all convinced that Harry was okay, so Harry turned towards him completely, stepping in slightly closer and for a moment they just watched each other, Draco’s eyes intent. Harry almost felt the air vibrate around them as he was struck, again, by how beautiful Draco actually looked.

He had been dead attractive this morning and that most certainly hadn’t changed a bit. Harry stepped in closer still, watching Draco gasp softly, his eyes wide.

Then Harry’s lips met Draco’s. There was a sound as if Draco wanted to protest, so Harry kissed him even more fervently: Draco had to know Harry really wanted this, that anything else just wasn’t an option right now. 

Harry felt the moment Draco gave in: returning the kiss, his lips soft and insistent against Harry’s own. Harry threaded his hands into Draco’s hair so hard it must hurt, but he couldn’t really care: Draco needed to be closer. So his other arm snaked around Draco’s waist and he felt Draco’s hand on his hip, his other one on the nape of Harry’s neck, while Draco deepened their kiss almost desperately. 

_Yes. Finally._

Then the carved door started to creak open. 

That broke their kiss and Harry watched Draco, the alarm on his face making him realise how serious this was and Harry slowly, reluctantly let go. Then, feeling a strong need to protect, he stepped in front of Draco, his wand at the ready, just like Draco’s.

“Ah, no need for all that,” a familiar voice said and Harry realised who it belonged to within the second. 

Theodore Nott. _That_ actually made complete fucking sense.

Nott lowered his wand and so did Harry and Draco, at least for the moment. 

Nott was older now than when Harry had known him at Hogwarts, of course, but he still had the same weedy build and rather inconspicuous features. 

He addressed Draco first: “Well, if it isn’t Draco Malfoy. I actually thought I might have the pleasure of seeing you here someday.” His tone could easily have been mocking, but it wasn’t. “I didn’t really count on him being here too, though.” He made a dismissive gesture in Harry’s direction. “I would have thought you’d have the decency to work with someone less offensive.” 

Draco stood up even taller than he normally did, giving Nott a full-on sneer that obviously _was_ meant to be mocking. It was the sort of smirk that Harry knew only too well: he used to be on the receiving end of these things quite a lot.

Nott evidently hadn’t been, though, flinching back ever so slightly. Then he seemed to collect himself again, saying: “So, the rumours are true then? You have actually joined the other side?” He said it just addressing Draco, not even acknowledging Harry’s presence any further.

Harry felt inclined to say something: Nott shouldn’t address Draco like this: Harry realised Nott posed a threat to Draco, and that just wouldn’t do. 

When Harry had opened his mouth, however, he caught Draco’s gaze, seeing him shake his head almost imperceptibly. Harry closed his mouth again, warily looking on instead.

“I wouldn’t say the other side, I’d say the right side,” Draco now answered Nott’s question. 

“You tell yourself that,” Nott said, tone derisive. “But are you actually sure the other side also sees it that way, that they see _you_ that way?” 

Now it was Draco’s turn to flinch slightly, before returning to complete composure. Harry saw it, though, and so did Nott. And Harry just wanted to tell them, tell Draco, that yes, they did see him that way, that _Harry_ saw him that way, that he would trust him with his life.

Before he could actually say so, Nott had already answered, however, sneering: “Why? Because you work with Potter so well?” 

Draco stood his ground. “Believe it or not: I tend to work with everyone well.” His tone was proud contempt, but Harry felt the uncertainty underneath. 

“But especially well with Harry, of course.” Nott taunted, “Your dear Harry. How was it: finally kissing him after all this time of wanting to?” Nott’s tone was plain villainous now. 

Draco didn’t answer for a beat, he just flushed and Harry could only think about how utterly endearing that was. And about what it meant: Draco had apparently had a crush on him. So that kiss they’d shared, it had to have actually meant something.

Harry really, really wanted to kiss Draco again and he almost made a move to do so, but Draco saw and shook his head ever so slightly.

Nott wasn’t done yet. “Now don’t deny it, Draco,” he still sounded absolutely evil, “There’s no need. As long as you understand it wasn’t real. You have to know you don’t actually stand a chance with our saviour here.” 

Draco still didn’t say anything, his face showing contempt at Nott mainly, but Harry also saw the confusion that flitted over his face. And Harry couldn’t keep it in anymore. “But he does. I, Draco, I-.” Harry couldn’t really find the words, but he went up to Draco and kissed him like he had wanted to ever since Nott had parted them, pouring everything he felt into that one single kiss.

Then Nott just started laughing, amused and mocking. “Oh, Draco, really? You think Potter really wants to kiss you? What do you think that powder he breathed in just now was for?”

Draco stepped back from Harry, pain with dawning realisation. Harry tried to pull him in again, wanting to keep him close. 

“You didn’t think Harry could really love you, now did you?” Nott asked without actually expecting an answer. “That powder is my own invention. It’s rather funny actually: it will make you, well, _want_ , oh, and usually also protect, the first person you see. Quite adequate when sprayed over someone who wants to break into my office, since I will typically be the first one they’ll see, you know. You can imagine how their defence would suffer. It’s usually very easy for us to apprehend someone like that.” 

“Oh, no need to worry, Draco. The powder is quite harmless in itself. Its effects will wear off within half an hour,” Nott added, after having studied Draco’s face for a moment. “And I have to admit that even though Potter wasn’t meant to snog _you_ after inhaling, it was still very much worth it. Seeing your face at the realisation Harry’s not even remotely interested in you, was absolutely priceless!” 

Harry saw how Draco struggled to keep his temper in check. His knuckles white from clutching his still lowered wand, his face a pale, transfixed mask. 

Nott apparently wasn’t done yet, though. “How are you parents, by the way? I heard your mother isn’t doing too well, living in that cottage of hers in France without your father.” Nott studied Draco’s face for a beat again, to see what the effect of his words had been, but now there was nothing there but stony indifference. Nott continued, more seriously, all mockery gone: “You know the Cartel would actually love to have you: your expertise on potions would be greatly appreciated here - you might even have noticed the small reference I thought I’d make to your name when I chose our logo – so if you’d work with us we’d pay you a royal salary and you’d have enough time to spare to actually visit you mother regularly. I heard she complained-.” 

That was when Draco’s _“Incarcerous.”_ hit, well it hit the wall to be exact, being deflected by Nott just in time. Nott wasn’t ready for Harry’s _”Petrificus Totalus.”_ cast straight afterward, though. 

He fell.

“Draco, what he’s saying: it’s not true. I do-.” 

Harry reached out to Draco, wanting him close, but Draco didn’t let him, stopping him as he said: “Yes, Potter, I get it.” Draco’s face was even, completely indifferent as was his tone.

That’s when they heard the footsteps. Fuck.

Harry touched his bracelet, whispering the spell that would activate it as he had been told to. This probably was a good time to get some backup. At the same time he stepped in front of Draco. They were not messing him up with that stupid, sodding, pain-in-the-arse, unknown curse again.

Harry’s _Protego_ was completely impenetrable, when he cast it, the strength of his magic pulsing around them.

The three hit-wizards - or whatever they were – who were undoubtedly sent their way to kill them, saw it too, but shot curses anyway. They didn’t even come close to hitting Draco or Harry.

“We can’t hit them, either, when your shield is up.” Draco’s voice behind Harry. “And that means they can take Nott out of here!” 

Harry saw what he meant, as one of the hit-wizards was already coming for their leader.

So Harry dropped their protection, feeling Draco’s solid back reassuringly against his. 

Then the casting started. Fast, spell after spell, curse after curse. 

Being an Auror Harry was used to battling with others at his side, but they were usually people whom he had trained or at least worked with for longer periods of time. Draco obviously didn’t fall into either of these categories, but Harry was struck by how easily they worked together anyway. 

Harry almost felt like they were dancing, dancing back to back and in a way that Harry actually understood how to, completely in sync. 

It reminded him of the way Draco had danced with Astoria a bit and just that thought made a warmth settle in his stomach that seemed utterly out of place given the circumstances, but that also made him focus even more, especially on anyone that could be a threat to Draco.

 _”Immobulus.”_ That one hit home and Harry saw, with no small amount of satisfaction, that one of the hit-wizards froze, the one by his side shooting a nasty _Diffindo_ that Harry easily evaded. 

A _“Cruciato.”_ followed, but Draco smoothly turned Harry out of the way of that one, casting an _Immobulus_ that made his target freeze in place straight away, while Harry cast an industrial strength _Incarcerous._ on their remaining assailant, causing her to be bound into a neat, industrial sized package.

Then Harry finally turned around to watch Draco, who pointedly didn’t look back, taking in the whole room except for the space where Harry was standing.

“Draco, what Nott said wasn’t-.” 

Draco just put a long finger to his mouth, hissing: “Shh, not now. Don’t you hear? I don’t think they’re ready to simply let us walk out of here just yet."


	8. The Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter was written to:  
> Fugue in D Minor by Daniel Pemberton ('Ocean's 8' soundtrack)

Draco was right, of course: they wouldn’t be able to just walk out yet, for again there were footsteps outside of the office they were in. Harry didn’t say anything, just signalling Draco to stand to one side of the door, while he himself stood to the other. 

They both saw it at roughly the same time, while Draco was walking to his spot: there was a broom tucked away in the far corner of the room, probably left there by a clerk normally working in this space.

Draco looked back at Harry, a question in his eyes. Harry just nodded. “You take it,” he whispered. He wasn’t going to put Draco in the most obvious position to get hit by the small army of guards that were most likely headed their way. Draco would probably be safer in the air.

Draco seemed to consider him for a beat, then went for the broom and mounted it in one sure movement, taking off without hesitation. The space they were in was high enough for him to hover without being seen immediately. Good.

Then the door was opened and all hell broke loose.

The only reason they didn’t get cursed straight away was that there actually was a doorway. The guards had to get in by ones or twos at most, which made it possible for Harry and Draco to deal with them. 

Well, as long as they kept on casting, Harry taking them full-on from his position by the door and Draco from his position in the air: initially shooting spells at mostly unsuspecting guards.

Harry felt his wand arm grow heavy from casting: how many bloody guards did Nott have to protect this sodding place? 

A quick glance upward, to Draco, told Harry that Draco presumably had the same problem. He was still casting rapidly, but Harry also saw he was wavering a bit, having trouble keeping one hand on the broom, steering, and the other on his wand.

“Harry, behind!” Harry turned around to find someone had apparently been able to lift the spell Harry’d cast on Nott in all the turmoil around them.

 _“Petrificus Totalus.”_ Harry cast again, this time with so much intent it would actually have petrified the wall it hit, if that had been sentient - and able to move - in the first place. 

But it hadn’t hit Nott, unfortunately. 

Harry turned just slightly, quickly sending a curse to one of the guards, then turning back to Nott, casting a _Protego_ that had Nott’s curse bounce off just in time.

This shield was why Harry wasn’t too bothered by Nott pointing his wand again, until Nott changed direction at the last moment and pointed it at Draco. 

“Draco!” Draco, still casting at the incoming guards, heard and shifted position, turning his broom swiftly, enough not to get hit, but not enough to get his broom completely out of harm’s way however: it splintered out of the air.

Harry sent a cushioning charm Draco’s way, while Draco cried his name and sent an _”Incarcerous”_ to deal with Nott, who had apparently tried to cast a curse at Harry.

Draco had been faster, though, having Nott bound and gagged again quite effectively. Harry shot a furtive glance in Draco’s direction to ensure that his cushioning charm was actually doing its job, then turned his attention back to the incoming guards. He really wanted to make bloody well damn sure no one was casting anything at Draco now.

 _”Immobulus.”_ someone shot at Harry from the side, while Harry had been casting at the guard straight in front of him, causing Harry’s _Protego_ to be slightly too late.

At least his protective shield proved enough for Harry not to freeze completely, but he felt his movements slow down, as if he was moving through water, then mud. He also felt Draco by his side now, steadying him a bit, while casting with his other hand. 

_“Fumos.”_ Draco’s voice was clear and loud and Harry knew he must be close, but he found he couldn’t really turn to look anymore.

In the thick smoke that followed Draco’s spell, Harry could hear Draco cast again, the gentle tingle of Draco’s magic, then the eerie feeling of being levitated a bit, just enough for Draco to be able to move him, to Nott’s office to be exact.

When they were in, Draco cast a locking spell that almost flared up with intensity. Then Draco leaned against the wall next to Harry, who was almost completely unable to move now. Draco’s hand was resting warm on Harry’s arm.

“I hope you’re not freaking out in there.” Draco’s tone was light, but he also watched Harry carefully, his grey eyes intent. And close, very close, and very beautiful. Yes, definitely that too.

And Harry wanted to tell him, wanted to tell Draco exactly what he meant to him.

But he couldn’t.

“For what it’s worth: I don’t think this will last very long. You probably undermined the strength of the spell quite a bit with your _Protego_ , which is good, because my locking spell will keep them out for some time, but it won’t last, either.” Draco’s voice was calm, stating facts as if he was just talking about the weather.

Outside of the door people were casting spells in quick succession, trying to gain access.

Draco didn’t say anything else for a short while, but he kept touching Harry’s arm, his caress soft and warm. It was grounding Harry in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

“We have to get out of here.” When Draco spoke up again it was with quiet determination. “I have called for backup through the bracelet, but it could take them hours to get here, especially given the protection around these grounds. I don’t think we’ll be able to sit that out here. They’ll probably breach the door long before that.” 

“And there’s just one way out of here, which also seems to lead through lots of guards, or whatever they are. I should think the Cartel will have drafted in all staff that can fire a decent spell at us by now, so we’re probably going to have even more of an unwelcoming reception when we get out of here than the one we already had. Not to mention that Theo will undoubtedly have been freed,” Draco’s voice had become even quieter, as if he was mainly talking to himself, just summing up everything they would be up against.

He skipped the obvious conclusion, though: the part where they were utterly and completely fucked.

*** 

“I think you’re right: we need to at least try and get out,” Harry said, now he was capable of speech and movement again. “Here we’d just be sitting ducks. We wouldn’t have a chance in hell of getting out any time soon, certainly not with the kind of manpower they will have mustered up on the other side of that door by now. So, let’s do it.” Harry heard the resolve to his own voice. “And Draco,” Draco looked at him slightly warily, as if he didn’t quite trust what Harry was going to say or whether he’d want to hear it.

Harry didn’t say anything else, though, instead just softly pulling Draco towards him, meeting him in a kiss. It was slightly awkward at first as there was just the tiniest bit of resistance on Draco’s side, before he too melted into it, closing his eyes and giving as good as he got. 

“And it’s not because of the powder,” Harry stated, when he’d let go again, just to get that absolutely clear. The effect of the powder had definitely subsided completely by now, the half an hour it could last long gone.

Draco watched him, the smile he gave Harry warm, but also still slightly distrustful, as if he didn’t quite believe Harry could actually mean this.

So Harry kissed him again: Draco had to know he meant it, all of it, especially now, now nothing was certain, now they didn’t even know how they were going to get out of this.

When they reluctantly let go of each other again, Draco’s eyes were watching Harry’s intently, as if he was trying to peer straight into Harry’s soul. Harry gladly let him.

Then Draco took an audible breath in. “Well, let’s just do this.” 

Harry nodded. 

So Draco cast to unlock the door.

Just before Harry blasted it out of the office completely, using a rather spectacular _”Bombarda Maxima”_.

That would hopefully take care of some of the wizards on the other side straight away.

It did, stunning most of their other opponents into surprised inactivity at that. Well, enough for Draco and Harry to start firing spells first, taking down wizards and witches while running and dodging curses.

Harry felt strangely calm now: he knew how to do this, had done it in battle and in the field as an Auror. And he could see Draco had, too, the way he moved conveying that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

They hid behind the first stalagmites they encountered - thank Merlin for caves - taking in their situation, sort of regrouping their rather pathetically small group. 

Harry hadn’t noticed a spell had grazed his hip, until he saw Draco watching it. Something had cut Draco’s arm, causing his right sleeve to hang in loose threads, the blood underneath dry already.

Well, it could have been much worse.

Their eyes met and they silently conferred, just nodding at each other, watching.

Then they jumped out, each from a different side, starting their game of cast and run again. There seemed to be wizards and witches everywhere, but most of them didn’t appear to be real guards which more often than not made them fairly easy to disarm. 

Thank Merlin for caves _and_ small mercies, actually.

Harry hadn’t had time to wonder where all the real guards, or Theodore Nott himself for that matter, had gone, but if he _had_ actually wondered he would have got his answer when they made it back to the large office space again.

Because there they all were: the guards, standing in groups, ready to fire and Theo, in the middle somewhere.

Harry hadn’t known what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been this exactly. He stopped and so did Draco, just before Draco started to talk: “Oh, and Theo,” Draco’s voice was clear, daring and at the same time managing to sound almost casual, like he had just thought of something he was now ready to share. 

It obviously caught Nott’s attention, his men standing down for the moment. 

Draco, in the meantime, proceeded to free something from his left sleeve almost languidly and all of a sudden Harry knew. The log. Draco still had the Cartel’s log, holding their experimental potions: their effects and how they were brewed. 

Nott knew what Draco was holding the minute Draco had unshrunk it, too, an almost hungry look passing over Nott’s face, before it set into disinterest again. 

Draco had obviously seen it too, whipping his already tattered right sleeve off, throwing it to the ground and setting it aflame with a quick _“Incendio”_ , then keeping the fire going and holding the log over it.

It was clear what he was ready to do.

“Really?” Nott made to sound cold and incredulous, as if he didn’t care. “You can’t expect for you both to get out of here that easily. That thing is definitely not important enough to me.”

Harry could almost feel the lie as Nott was saying it and he thought Draco did too.

“Perhaps not both of us,” Draco met Nott’s gaze evenly, “but you’re going to have to let Harry go, if you want to keep this in one piece. I’m not stepping back from the fire until he’s out.” His voice was unwavering, determined and Harry felt faint and nauseous all of a sudden.

What was the sodding twat doing? Damn it! 

One of the guards obviously thought this had lasted long enough, though, and he sent a curse Draco’s way that Draco deflected with practiced ease.

“I suggest you keep your guards in check, Theo. We wouldn’t want your log to get burnt by accident,” Draco drawled lazily. Nott took the hint, looking at the guards in a way they undoubtedly all understood. 

“Draco, I’m not going anywhere.” Harry’s voice rang out in the large space just as clearly as Draco’s had. 

“See, Draco, your Chosen One doesn’t even want to be rescued,” Nott sneered, while Draco just gave Harry a furtive glance that Harry would have known anywhere, because it was the sort of glance he’d been used to in school: it meant something along the lines of ‘Don’t be an idiot, Potter’. 

Which was exactly when Harry heard it. 

Someone was yelling at the top of their lungs and it wasn’t a particularly joyous sound. 

Now Nott heard it too.

“They’re coming! The Aurors have breached ..,” the wizard, seemingly running to warn Nott, didn’t even get a chance to actually finish his sentence, before he was effectively shoved out of the way by a spell. 

Everyone turned toward the entrance that the man had come from. Harry watched Draco, who, almost smugly, proceeded to put out his fire and shrink the log.

Then ducked, because Nott had apparently turned his attention towards him, while around them the fighting had started once more: wizards and witches firing spells everywhere. 

At Harry too, which was why he could only see how Nott pointed his wand threateningly at Draco again, out of the corner of his eye, not able to do anything about it just now.

It appeared it wasn’t necessary for him to do anything about it, though, as Nott didn’t get a chance to cast at Draco again: behind him Zabini had come in. He didn’t skip a beat at seeing Nott, shooting him a fast and unrelenting _"Incarcerous.”_ within the second.

From there on in the odds were looking up, because even though the Cartel still definitely had more people fighting, the Aurors and Ministry hit-wizards that Zabini had brought in were even more definitely better at it. 

And so were Harry and Draco, resuming their fighting dance, battling back to back or side by side as if they’d never done it any other way.

It was all completely over within the hour, the cave reduced to blackened walls and splintered desks, dust finally settling, while the Aurors and Zabini’s men were gathering up Cartel members to be taken away. 

They had won.

“Nice work!” Zabini came up to Harry and Draco. “Although I don’t think this actually qualified as recon: I presume we’ve effectively wiped out what I think was probably most of the Cartel.”

Draco shrugged and from the almost embarrassed look he shot Zabini, Harry gathered this probably wasn’t the first time he’d pulled a stunt like that, throwing himself into a situation he wasn’t technically supposed to get into.

Harry was just glad he had been with him this time. Which reminded him, though: “What were you trying to do? You know, the fire and the log and trying to get me out?” Harry still felt quite indignant just thinking about that.

Draco met what must have been Harry’s rather heated gaze, evenly, but he had flushed ever so slightly. “I heard the Aurors coming, you pillock. You didn’t really think I was going to endanger myself again because of you, now did you?” 

Harry found he actually did. 

***

After everything was over there seemed to be people around everywhere and all the time. Harry and Draco were made to give statements to Zabini and some Belgian bloke that Harry hadn’t actually seen before. 

When that had been done, Harry had hoped they’d be left alone for a while, but that had obviously been too much to ask, because instead they were hauled off to one of the smaller office spaces to see some Healers, both him and Draco on different sides of the room.

The Healer that started casting diagnostics on Harry was a witch with a friendly face that Harry recognized from the British Room, but that he hadn’t really talked to much. 

“How’s David?” Harry blurted out. 

She gave him a slightly surprised look, then seemed to recognise him as the one who had brought David in and smiled. “Still weak, but out of stasis and recovering,” adding apologetically: “and I’m afraid that’s all I’m at liberty to tell you.” Harry felt she probably meant she hadn’t been at liberty to tell him even that much.

“Well, nothing serious here,” she then proceeded to say, casting spells on the cuts and bruises he’d sustained throughout the fight. “You’ll be right as rain again.”

“Thanks,” Harry smiled at her, “And thanks,” he added emphatically, meaning he was glad he now knew David was on the mend. 

She’d obviously understood what he meant, smiling back. “No thanks.” 

Then Harry looked around, trying to find Draco, who quite notably wasn’t in the room with the other Healer, anymore.

“Draco’s only just left,” ‘Harry’s‘ Healer said, smiling at him a little as if she knew exactly why Harry was looking for him.

Was it that obvious?

Harry decided he didn’t particularly care, though, walking out quickly, hoping to catch Draco. 

It happened to be easy to catch Draco.

He was standing just outside the door, lounging against a wall almost leisurely. “Everything okay?” Draco’s voice seemed the slightest bit tense, however, and he was watching Harry intently again.

Harry felt the urge to answer quickly, reassuringly. “Yeah, nothing that couldn’t be healed straight away. You?”

“Same.” A beat of silence in which they were just standing there, staring at each other. “Zabini said there’s a Portkey back to London for you.” Draco then said. His words sounded matter-of-factly enough, but his brows were slightly furrowed and Harry realised he looked sort of uncertain.

“Yes, but I er-, I don’t want to take it just yet. I still have some stuff at your suite and I-. Is it okay if I come back with you for now?” Harry just answered.

He had moved closer and Draco apparently didn’t have to be told twice, because he Apparated them both to his suite without answering.

Harry would have been annoyed at that if he hadn’t been so happy. 

***

Eventually, after a day mostly spent sleeping, and kissing, most definitely also kissing, Harry had had to take the next Portkey they sent him and it had taken him back to London, to everything and everyone he knew. Well, everyone except for the one who seemed to matter the most.

Coming home had never felt so empty.

Robards had made him take leave for a week, so now Harry was in his house, trying to get the main rooms to look more like the welcoming spaces he’d always imagined, but had never found the time to change them into. 

He was well over a day into his leave already and he found he hadn’t been able to do any redecorating just yet, though, instead just feeling completely lost most of the time.

He was almost relieved when he heard his Floo come to life. 

“Hermione, I haven’t … .”

But it wasn’t Hermione, who now stepped out of his fireplace, sweeping the soot off of his otherwise pristine clothes.

Harry felt slightly baffled for a moment, then broke out into a smile he wasn’t able, or willing, to stop.

“Draco, I thought-, you said you weren’t ready to really come back to-.” 

“Who said anything about really coming back.” Draco’s voice was just cool indifference, but his eyes had an unmistakable softness to them and were completely trained on Harry’s.

And there was nothing for it: Harry could only pull him in close, giving him the warmest ,most welcoming kiss he could, while Draco kissed him back like his life depended on it.

“It was a really bad idea for me to leave the suite so soon,” Harry said softly against Draco’s lips after a long moment. They were still holding each other close.

“Yes, really bad,” Draco easily agreed. “That’s why-. Would you mind if I stayed here for a bit?” Draco’s voice had gone quiet and he looked away almost shyly as if he was afraid Harry would tell him that he didn’t think that was a particularly good idea. 

So Harry made Draco look at him again. “I would really like you to stay.” He said, completely sincerely

“Good, because I’ve already given up the suite in Brussels and I’m here now and I really wouldn’t want to stay at the Manor, because it’s empty and horrible and-.” It all came out in a rush of utter relief and Harry stopped Draco’s words by cupping his jaw, touching Draco’s mouth with his thumb, while Harry felt himself smile at him entirely too fondly.

It was only now that Harry noticed the rather large suitcase sitting next to Draco. How could he have missed that?

“Please, stay,” he repeated warmly and he felt his smile grow into something that was probably much too soppy, but that he really couldn’t stop.

Now it was Draco who pulled him in, their kiss tender at first, but very soon starting to get needy, almost desperate, like it could never, ever be quite enough.

Harry hoped it would never actually _be_ quite enough. He wanted Draco to stay, in London, in Harry’s house, here, with him. 

Possibly forever.

***

EPILOGUE

Harry was staring again. At Draco Malfoy. At a ministry ball. It was all strangely familiar, but at the same time completely and utterly different, because this time, when Draco stared back, his smile was bright and genuine.

He had been talking to Zabini again, leaning against a windowsill this time, but he hadn’t come _with_ Zabini. Draco had come here with Harry and Harry had decided that meant he could stare all he wanted. 

Draco now turned a bit to whisper something to Zabini, who watched Draco with a look that was both amused and slightly incredulous for a moment. Then Draco left him, coming toward Harry in that confident stride of his that he usually tended to overdo slightly when he was nervous.

And although Draco hadn’t told him, Harry knew he was nervous. 

Draco had been with Harry in London for the better part of the last few months, only taking on short assignments that hadn’t required him to be gone for longer stretches of time. Harry’s friends had known, and mostly accepted, they were together for a while now, but this ministry Christmas ball was the first time they were going to be seen in public together. 

“Ready?” Draco asked Harry, so close now he could, and did, take Harry’s hand in his. Harry nodded. He was nervous too. Not because he was going to be seen with Draco, though. He’d had enough rubbish written about him in the papers not to give any fucks, flying or otherwise, about that whatsoever.

No, it was the other thing he was worried about.

They had decided they would dance together. At this ministry ball. For all to see. It would be a strong statement, but it would also require Harry to dance, which was most definitely worrying.

At first Harry had thought that if Ron had been able learn he would be, too. So, that’s when he and Draco had started practicing together. Extensively. Draco had been a good and patient, well, mostly anyway, teacher and Harry had thought he would be able to pull this off. Until the actual ball came closer, that was, and therefore also the moment they would actually have to do it. The dancing. It had made him more uncertain every time he’d practiced.

And this morning he had been absolutely fucking sure he would make an absolute arse of himself. He had shown up here, anyway, though, because it was important that everyone would see, that everyone would know, that they knew who Draco was to Harry, that they knew Draco was his boyfriend. And if he made an arse of himself while doing so, well, so be it. Harry could handle that. 

“Sure?” Draco’s eyes held mostly amusement, but Harry could see the genuine concern hidden underneath. Harry nodded.

So Draco led them to the dancefloor, elegant and sure, much like Harry had seen him do when he had danced with Astoria all those months ago. The music stopped and Harry heard the first notes of the tune he had wanted to dance to, the music he had asked the orchestra to play when he and Draco would get to the floor.

They took the stance they would start from and then Draco leant into Harry, his cologne strong and satisfying, and Harry thought Draco would whisper something encouraging, but he didn’t, instead just giving Harry a kiss on his jawline, fleeting, but warm and filled with promise and Harry knew it was exactly what he had needed.

Then Draco leant back again and they started to move, easy at first, finding their rhythm. And then Harry remembered what Draco had said when they were practicing: ‘Don’t think, just let go. Dance like you fight.’ 

So that’s what Harry did. He let his instincts take over, this time following Draco’s lead, though. And all of a sudden dancing wasn’t hard work: it was okay, easy almost, and although Harry knew he probably didn’t even come close to Astoria’s natural grace, he found he didn’t really care anymore. He was with Draco and that was all that mattered.

Harry didn’t even care when he saw the flashes of multiple cameras go off. Yes, their photographs would be in the papers tomorrow, but that was okay. In a way it had probably even been the whole point of tonight. 

***

When Harry saw the newspapers the next day, photos of him and Draco dancing had made the front pages on all of them. The tone of the articles going with the photos had ranged from reluctant ( _The Prophet_ ) to openly accepting ( _The Quibbler_ ), but all of the photos had something in common: both Harry and Draco looked absolutely smitten, undoubtedly in love.

“Anything interesting in the papers?” Draco’s drawl held warmth and amusement and before Harry could turn around Draco was there, against his back, snaking his arms around Harry’s waist, Draco's chin pointily resting on Harry’s shoulder, so Draco was able to see for himself.

“Ah, we’re painfully obvious, don’t you think?” Draco had evidently seen the same thing Harry had and Harry pulled back a bit, wanting to see Draco’s reaction, worrying about what he might think all of a sudden. 

Harry shouldn’t have worried, though, Draco’s eyes were warm and completely fond.

“I’m glad we did it,” Harry said softly while turning, so he could look Draco properly in the eyes. 

“So am I.” Draco’s answer was so simple, but it held everything: his doubts, his hopes and most importantly his love and all Harry could do next was to close what little distance was still separating them, drawing him into a long, slow kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my wonderful beta (who has kept me from making some rather massive mistakes). All remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.
> 
> And thank you for reading!


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